PR 4399 
.B3 H8 
Copy 1 




DE WITT'S ACTING PLAYS. /0i'i^ \ 



(Number 3.) 



(^' 



^ 



U'-)^ 

■=>/ 



ilOO.OOO. 

iJAN ORIGIi^AL COMEDY 



IIV THREE ACTS. 

By henry J. BYEON. 

Author of - War to the Knife," '•Dundreary Married." 

J'l ST PKQDTJCED AT THE PRINCE OF WHILES THEATRE, LON- 
DON, UNDER THE MAXAGEMENT OF MISS MARIE 
WTLTON, OX MAT 5tH, 1867. 



TO -VTHICH AEE AODKD 



A dasc- Option of the Costume-Cast of the Characters— Entrances and Exits- 
Relative Positions of the Performers on the Stage, and 
the whole of the Stage Business. 



ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER 
.^y^ No. 13 Frttnlcfbrt Street. 




■^ 



.A-Sat'JL'Ja, An Original Comedy in Three Acts. By T. W. Re 






NETT PLAYS! ]VE^\^ PLAYS 

Price Fifteen Cents Each, 



IVTOBODY^S CHILD. 

DRAMATIC PLAY IN THREE AC 

!y mm PHILLIPS, Esq., Author of the " Ticket of Leave." "Paul's Return, 



This play has been a great success. It has run over fort 
at the Surrey Theatre, London, and still kept the stage at la^- 
It is a wonderfully effective drama, abounding iis Mini". 
;■;, and beautifully effective Tableaux. Nothing more really ari 
popular has been put on the stage in a long time. It h.is 2^ 
:ters in all, including subordinates. ij 

This edition contains every information for easily puftvat. the !{ 
on the stage. Costumes, Positions, Scenery, List of C/ir-c".- 
&c. 



By H. J. BYRO\, One of the most Popular English Dramatists. 

This is one of the most effective of recent plays. It iu, . v ! a 
run in London, and is being extensively played in the Province: 
is country it has been very successfully produced at W a Hack 
ere, N. Y., Selwyn's Theatre, Boston, and other iir?t cla 
tres. It has 12 characters in all, including subordinates. 
Not only the list of Characters, Costumes, &c., will be found in 
■dition I but every other possible information as regards Soenery 
crties. Positions, &c., &c., are given in the plainest manner. 



o jfli. iS "X" 

ORIGINAL COMEDY. IN THREE 

ByT. W. ROBERTSON, Esq., Author of "Ours," "Society," k 

This edition contains full descriptions of Costumes — 1 
ry — Stage arrangements, &c. 

+ Copies tnnilerl, postatje paid, on receipt of price 




A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 



AN ORIGINAL COMEDY 



IN THREE ACTS. 



By henry J; BYRON, 

■A 

Author of " William Tell With a Vengeance," " Lancashire Lass," 

<&c., &c. 



AS FIRST PERFORMED AT THE PRINCE OF WALES THEATRE. 

LONDON, UNDER THE MANAGEMENT OF MISS MARIE 

WILTON, MAY 5TH, 1866. 



TO WHICH ARE ADDED 

A DESCRIPTION OF THE COSTUME— CAST OF THE CHARACTERS EK- 

TKANCES AND EXITS — RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PER- 
FORMERS ON THE STAGE, AND THE WHOLE 
OF THE STAGE BUSINESS. 



NEW YORK : 

ROBERT M. DE WITT, PUBLISHER. 

No. 13 Frankfort Street. 



:B3 



Gcraid Goodwin, 

Major Blucksliaw, 

Sir Kuiiisey Waters, 

Charker, 

Joe Barlow, 

Pennythorue, 

Pyefincli, 

\Ir. Fluker, 

Gibbons, 

Alice Barlow, 
Mrs. Barlow, 
Arabella Bell, 
Jane Plover, 



CASr OF CHARACTERS. 

Frincecf Wales Theatre, London, 
May btk, 1866. 

- - AV. S. Bancroft, 
■ - Mr. F. Dewar. 

- • Mr. J. Tindall. 

Mr. Trafford. 

- » Mr. May. 

- • Mr. J. Clarke. 

- - Mr. W. H. MontgovMiry, 

- - Mr. J. Hare. 



Miss Wilton. 
Miss Larkin. 
Miss B. Wilton. 
Miss B. GoodaU, 



COSTUMES OF THE DAT. 

FSOPFJtTIFS- -Stockings, tray, decanter, glasses, table, uhairs, sofa, piano. 



SCENERY. 
ACT I. — Parlor behind Barlow's sTiop. 



Door into Shop. 



^ 3 
J - 



Door. 



Parlour, comfortably furnlBbed' 



SIX MONTHS ARE SUPPOSED TO ELAPSE. 

ACT 11. — Clmmbers in St.' James's. 
SIX MONTHS ARE SUPPOSED TO ELAPSE. 

ACT lU.-Same as Act I. 



Stage Directions. — R. means Jtrfhi: of Stage, fac'ng the Audience ; L. 
Left ; C. Cmtrc ; R. C. Right of centre ; ' L. C. Left of centre. D. F. Boor in the 
Flat, or Scene running across the back of tlie Stage ; C. D. F. Centre Door 
in the Flat ; R. D. F. Right Door in the Flat ; L. C. F. Left Door in the Flat; 
R. D. Right Door ; L. 1). Left Door ; 1 E. First Entrance ; 2 E. Second En- 
trance ; U. E. Upper Entrance ; 1, 2 or 3 G. First, Seconi or Third Groove. 
R. R. C. C. L. C. L. 

The reader is supposed to be upon the Stage facing ihe audience. 
G.Fl 



EST OF J, H_ p^^^^^ 



A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 



S ACT I. 



Scene. — Parlour behind Joe Barlmc s shop, comfortably furnished — door 
into shop, ti. c. ; door, m., fire-place. L. 

Mrs Barlow discovered sitting, R. c, darning stockings, receiving the ■ 
visit of Miss Jane Plover and Miss Arabella Pell, two trades- 
men s daughters. 

Mrs. Barlow, (r. c.) Well, my dears, if you were to talk for an 
hour, you'd never make me thiuk different. Besides, marriage in- 
deed ! what business have two young bits of gals like you to think of 
getting married ? 

Jane. (l. c.) La, Mrs. Barlow, what do you suppose we've got to 
think about ? 

Mrs. B. Oh, go along with you. 

Jane. I dare say j-ou did, ^vhen you were our age. It's only natur- 
al, isn't it, Arabella? /^ 

Arabella, {l. a gushing girl) Of course it is, Jane dear. 

Mrs. B. Parcel ot rubbisli. Now you, Jane Plover, now what do you 
know about housekeeping? 

Jane. Well, I can make my own bonnets, can't I, Arabella ? 

Arab. Yes, Jane dear. 

Mrs. B. How ab mt cooking now? 

Jane. Oh, when I marry I hope it'll be to some one who can afford 
to keep me a cook. One marries to better one's condition, Mrs. Bar- 
low, not to be made a negr > slave of. 

Akab. I should think not indeed ! catch me cooking for any man. 

Mrs. B. Well, my niece Alice can cook. 

JANt:. Now you know it's not fair to bring Alice forward as an ex- 
ample. Alice can do everything better than anybody else. 

Au.\B. Yes, everything ! 

Jane, Every one owns that, and nobody's a bit jealous of her. I al- 
ways will say, that if ever there was a loveable, amiable, downright 
specimen of a girl, Alice Barlow is the identical party ; don't, I Arabella ? 

Arab. That you do, Jane dear. 

Mrs. B. Ah, you wheedling young thing, you know how to get 
round an old woman, not is anything you could say in Ally's praise 
Wt.uld be too much ; eversince she was so high, she's been a joy and 
a comfort to her uncle and me. 

Jane. Well, Mrs. Barlow, in course of time she'll have to be a joy 
and comfort to somebody else ; it's only natural, you know. As Mrs. 
Mc Whirter, who gave that lovely lecture at the school-room, last 
week, on " Woman's Rights," said, with a beautiful sweep of the arm, 
" Matrimony," says she, " Matrimony is woman's missive /" 

Arab. Mission, not missive, Jane dear. 



6 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

Jane. Don't catch nie up, Arabella, I was close to the lecturer, in 
the sUilling Seals, whilst you was at ihe back, amon;r the " three- 
pen nys." 

Arab. That's a bad habit of yours, lording it over parties who 
haven't a ])roper allowance from their pa. It, isn't eveiy one's pa 
who's a master builder, and made his fortune running up terraces, 
that look as it they'd been built of card paper instead of bricks and 
mortar. 

Jane. Now, Arabella, don't you be annoyinj,^ 

Arab. Then don't you aggravate. 

Mrs. B. There, there, don't quarrel, girls ; woman's missionary or 
not, Alice isn't thinking of niariiage. 

Jane. Not as far as you know, Mrs. Barlow. 

Arab. By the way, how's your lodger getting on, ma'am ? 

Mrs. B. Thai's best known to himself, my dear. 

Arab. And he keeps himself to himself, 1 fancy. I call him a regu- 
lar mystery. But he's Very handsome, isn't he, Jane dear. 

Jane. Bless the man ! do you think I ever looked at him ? 

Akab. There's no liarm in expressing an opinion ; it isn't every one 
who's engaged to a cornchandler. 

Jane, {looking at Jier watch) Gracious me, Mrs. Barlow, how late it 
is, we must l-e i-ff. 

Arab. No, and it isn't every one who has a gold watch to flaunt in 
the faces of parties whose parents have been improvident. I'll warrant 
Alice hasn't got a gold watch. 

Mrs. B. Indeed she has though ; her uncle gave her a beauty on her 
last birthday. 

Jane. Be?id( s, don't you know Alice has a fortune coming to her, 
hasn't she, Mrs. Barlow ? 

Mrs. B. She don't like it talked about ; it's no secret that her father 
left her comfortably ofT. But, Hess my heart, what can have become 
of Joe? {the girls get ■up.) 

Arab. I suppose you'd thinkit rude if I was to ask what your lodger 
is, Mrs. Barlow. 

Jane, Arabella, how you can 

Mrs. B. Not a bit, my dear, when you see him ask him. 

Arab. La, no, I meant that perhaps you might 

Mrs. B. (crossly) I know nothing about him. Where can Joe be ? 

^ANE. Well, good morning, Mrs. BariOw ; give my love to Alice. 
{shaking hands) 

Arab. And mine too, and a million million kisses, {shaking hands) 

Jane. How can you be so childish ? 

Arab. Do mind your own business, Jane dear. 

J.\NE. It's quite ridiculous in one of your ytars. 

Arab. Never mind what it is. {they go off, L. D., icrangling) 

Mrs. B. Bless the man, what a lime he is always going into the City, 
Bother the City, why can't he be happy in the Boro.' It's only of late 
that he's taken to rambling off goodness knows where. Joe never spoke 
a false word to me in his life, but I must say there are times when I 
mistrust that "City." Half-past four, {sits arid taps her foot impatiently) 
Dear! dear! and there's always a rush of business when he's away, 
customers seem to pour in just out of aggravation, {sits R., arm cJiair) 

Enter Joe Barlow, c. d. 

Joe. Well, old woman, {observes that Mrs. Barlow is annoyed.icinks 
aside) A trifle grumpy as per usua! Hum I {alotid) What's the mailer, 
misses 1 



ACT I, 7 

Mrs. B. Oh, what a time you've been pliilnndrin' abont. 

Joe. What's the use of trying into Ibrbiyu lau^uagas ? I ain't been a 
pliilandrin,' I've been in the Ciiy. 

Mus. B. Oil, you're always ^oinof to the City. 

Joe. Well, it ain't my fault, old \v(uiian. It's business. If every one 
was blown up for beinfj obiif^ed to jro into the City it'd come precious 
hard on a many. Wouldn't the homnibases catch it, that's all. (aside) 
Twelve per cent, if it's a penny. If she only knew half — but no, she'd 
object to the risk— she's like the party in the play," shu's got no specklela- 
tion in her eye." Twelve per cent, if it's a i^enny , (turns upstage and takes 
off his hat. dr.) 

Mus. B (k. c.) Been buyinn^ stock I suppose? 

Joe. (l. c.) Ye — es, a little. We're short of soda too. {Joe jyuts hat 
on piano, (l.) and they sit) 

MiJS. B. We'll {xive the City a rest for a bit, Joe, for we've got more 
in the place than we shall ever isut rid of. There's soapeuough to see 
us out if we live to be a pair of Methoosallunis. 

Joe. Well, there's Alice to inherit it ain't tliere ? 

Mrs. B. Ah, Alice will never keep the shop, Joe. 

Joe. Why not? she's got no lofty ideas, has slie ? What would you 
have her do Y sell up the business and set up fir a fine hidy, or take to 
something light and gen-tt^el, miilinery or something of that sort ; or 
g'o out for a governess, eh? That's a very agreeable sort of lite I've 
heard, and the number of young noblemen as frequently proposes and 
is accep;ed is quite surprising. 

Mrs, B, {much annoyed) Now, Joe, Joe, don't nag — you know I can't 
stand uauriring, Joe. I don t want to appear out of temper. 

Joe. Out of temper, old woman! no fear of your being out of it, you'll 
always have plenty of it by you. 

Mrs. B. There, that's always the way you come back from the City ; 
you go out quite pleasant, and you come back that rampageous there's 
no spi^aking to you. OU I'd like to give that City a bit of my mind, 
(rises) 

Joe. Oh, ray dear, the City don't want it, (rises) 

Mrs. B. Alice has no notion of marrying a young nobleman, or above 
herself in any way. Look at Pennythorne, what a match he'd be, but 
she'll scarcely give him a civil W(jrd, more especially of Lite — hem I I 
say more especially of late, Joe. I say more especially 

Joe. All ri<rht, my dear, I hear you. Don't let's have no tautuology. 
If Alice don't like Pennythorne she's not obliged to have him I suppose. 
I'm a advocate for letting young people fall in love before they get 
married. It's letter than doing it afterwards. 

JIrs. B. Don't be stupid, Joe ; it's according to who it's with. Esteem 
is the principal thinir. 

Joe. No, it ain't, love's the sentiinf^nt for my money. Bless your 
heart, when I proposed to you, old woman, I didn't esteem you a bit. 
But I was over head and ears in love with you in tlie good f;ish:one>l 
way, and felt miserable, and kep' awake and didn't put no oil on my 
Lair, lost my ai^petite all rej^'lar. 

Mrs. B. (rat/wr pleased) Oh, pn iilnn'r ■^•\t}i your nonsense I Penny- 
thorne's rich. Loo'K at the hors-s and carriages he keeps. 

Joe. Yes, to "Let out for 'ire," — put that in. 

Mrs. B. S le'd have got to like him in time, only there's a certain 
reason w!iy she doesn't now. 

JoF. Oil, the reason's plain enough — she detests him. I'm afraid it's 
one that'll last. 

Mrs. B. Yes, but I believe you're so blind that you don't or won't 
eee the real cause- 



8.. A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

Joe. Now look liere, don'i keeyi a driving about the bash if you've 
got anything to comiiiunicate, ppnak up. 

Mrs. B. It was an evil day when you allowed that young man 
Goodwin to come liere and lodge. 

Joe. {xchistles) Oh, well, you made no objection. The room was no 
use to us ; ind — and — why 1 thought you were very partial to the 
young man. 

Mrs. B. Oh yes, at first ; but — he's very strange. I don't under- 
stand him ; and — he's dreadfully shabby. 

Joe. Shabby ? why he's always paid his rent regler, and William 
tells me he's given him a shilling a week for cleaning his boots. 
Mrs. B- Used to do. Ncnv he cleans them himself. 
Joe. Does 'em better, perhaps. 

Mrs. B. No, it's because he's ashamed to shew 'em, I've noticed his 
clothes getting more and more threadbare. He's as poor as poor can 
be, Joe. 

Joe. ''i^^ell, I don't suppose he'd select a back bed room in the Bor- 
ough if he was rolling in wealth. You don't expect to have lords for 
lodgers, do you 

Mrs. B. What convinces me more than anything is, that I've lately 
missed his watch and chain. 

Joe. Well, my dear, so lo?g as you don't miss yours, it don't sig- 
nify. 

Mrs. B. Then I've seen him go out in the dark with parcels and 
come back without 'em ; that looks suspicious. 

Joe. On the contrary, if he had gone out with nothing and come 
haekyv'ith parcels, it might have appeared odd. 

Mrs. B. Besides, I believe he's half : tarved ; why he's nothing like 

as stout as he was when he came here, and looks as pale 

Joe. Ha, it's not the colour of his face, it's the colour of his money 
you're afraid of missing. As for being thin, p'raps he's going in for 
Bantum. I'm sorry to hear all this ; but still I can't see that it's our 
business ; the young man's never asked a favour or borrowed a penny 
of us, has he ? 

Mrs. B. No, he's as proud as he can be ; and the poorer he grows 
the more distant he gets. That's what annoys me more than all. If 
he'd come down a bit humble in his way it would only look proper 
I think. I don't believe in paupers a giving themselves airs. 

Joe. Come, come, I say, you're going a little too far. Pauper's a 
hard word. 

Mrs. B. Well, never mind, Joe. I shall have him out. He'd bet- 
ter go before there's any bother. Suppose anything should happen — 
him took ill — and not a penny. Don't you see what a nice set out it 
would be for us ? Haven't you got a luad on your shoulders ? 

Joe. Yes, but I believe I've got a heart underneath 'em. So have 
you, old woman, and his being poor's not the reason for all this. 
What was the hint you dropped just now about Alice? 

Mrs. B. Well, ever since that young man's been here, she's been 
like another girl. His fine genteel haughty ways turned her head. 
I can see as far as most, Joe. 

Joe. Yes, you can See a great deal further than other folks, and 
Bometimes a good deal more. I've had many a talk with Mr. Good- 
win, and though he's a little shy, I believe he's an honest young gen- 
tleman — aye, gentleman ! As for Alice, I can depend on her, my dear. 
She'll never cause us a tear. I could trust her anywhere and with 
anybody — always could ; I think any one will allow that, when I de- 
clare that at the early age of five I could leave her alone with the figs. 
I Mbs. B. Well, I shall turn him out ! {rising) 



ACT I. 9 

Joe. {ridng) Where ? Into the cruel streets, and him without a 
friend. You're comfortable off, luy dear, and don't know what it is to 
want a meal ; but I was a poor lad once, Sue — a poor lad with no 
borne, and no friend.*. I've known what it is lo drop from sheer hun- 
ger, an<l sob myself to sleep against a door step. It was many a lonor 
year before I couid count upon a dinner every day. And I m jxlit have 
been a thief. I was very, very near it once, but a friend's hand saved 
me irom that, just in time, and — and — I'll be tliis younij man's iriend, 
and, {turning to her) so will you, old woman, so will you, won't you? 
Eh, won't you? Eh? (he has got closer to her and puts his arm 
round her icaist. — she is gradually giving icay) 

Wks. B. {half crying) There, there, have it your own way I only 
meantit for the best, Joe. 

Joe. Bless your dear {jood heart, I know that. There — there — I'll 
have a talk with Alice. There — there — we won't turn out the poor 
lad into the Btreet<5. 

Goodwin appears at door r., pauses. 

Mrs. B. {going, and iciping her eyes) Oh, Joe, Joe, what a good soul 
you are, only — only 

Joe. Yes. 

Mus. B. Only 

Joe. Well? 

Mrs. B. I wish you wouldn't pfo so often to the City. 

Exit Mks. Barlow into shop, c. door. 

Joe. Ilah, she'd never do anythintj harsh if it came to the point, I 
know. She's always grettinj; hold of some mare's nest or other; but if 
she knew I'd been investiuf; my savinjifs in a glorious concern that 
must yield twelve per cent., if it pays a penny, she'd flare up, and 

Mrs. B. {from shop, sJiarj^ly) Joe ! 

Joe. Tliere she i '. (looks over blind into shop) Yes, strugglingf with a 
double GlosK-r. {calls, going) I can t have that cheese cut for less than 

a pound mind. It's a lirst-rate cheese that is and 

Goes off, talJdng. c, door 
Enter Gerald Goodwin, r. d., and sits in arm chair, u. — 7ie is in the 

last depths of genteel shahbiness — his boots cracked, and his coat ncry 

threadbare. 

Gerald. You're quite riirht, my pood IMrs. Barlow, it's time for me 
to go. 1 ought to have vacated my highly savoury apartment before 
this. Heigho? 1 maj' try to laugh it off, but it's no joke being next 
door but one from starving after all. Nature abhors a vacuum. I per- 
fectly agree with nature. I little thought when I used to write down 
in my copy book that undeniable fact, " Hunger's a sharp Thorn," that 
I should ever come to feel its ]>oint. Did I do lightly in quarrelling 
with Unc'e Desborough — quitting his society — leavinu- India, and com- 
ing to England to seek my fortune, unaided ? Well, ye-es, I think I 
did. It's true I threw away all chance of inheriting his money ; but 
then as he chose to marry again, my prospects were destroyed already. 
There's sjiire to be a family, (rises) tliere always is in these cases. But 
one thing's quite certain — honour, common honesty even demands that 
I should leave this house. I'll go and see if I can find something even 
more moderate than my present abode. 

Enter Alice, r. d. 
Good morning, Miss Barlow. 

Alice, (r.) You are surely not going out, Mr. Goodwin, it's pouriiig 
with rain. 

Gerald, (l.) Is it ! dear me. I assure you I've no objection to rain. 
I rather like rain. Rain, 1 believe is — a — good for the crops. 



10 A IIUXDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

Alice. Yes, but as you don't happen to bo the crops, wouldn't it be 
better it you -waited till it was over, or took uncle's umbrella? 

Gerald. Oh dear, no, thank you. (aside) I mifjlit be able to stand 
the rain, but I c mldn't survive Mr. Barlow's umbrella, (aloud) As you 
say, I think it wmild be bolter to postpone goin>r out for the present, 
(puts doipn hat) I was only f^oin'i-out to seeii some other apartments. 
I — I am <i;o iiLi'to leave here, (uncowfortably) 

Alice, (v.., suddenly) 0\\, (a slight pause) I'm so sorry, if there's 
anytliinjr — not ex ctly 

Gerald, (l.) Pray don't misunderstand me. I must speak out, and 
I can do so better to you than to any one else here. I — I am uncom- 
monly poor, and I don't see any prospect at present of obtaining a 
living, and so I'm — I'ut J^oing away. 

Alice, But it appears so strange — you seem so clever, and to know 
so much, and yet 

Gerald. And yet I can't get any employment, that's what you 
mean. Exactly. 

Alice. Don't mind my being frank. I assure you I take an int — 
(stops abruptb/) 

Gerald. Mind your being frank 1 it's most kind of you to listen 
to my selfisli complainings. It's a great reliet to have some one to con- 
fide in. You were going to say 

Alice, (r.) Well, one would imagine that a perfect gentleman 

Gerald, (l.) My dear Alice — I beg your pardon — Miss Barlow, it's 
astonisiiing in these ca.<es how difficult " a perfect gentleman" always 
finds it to gain his bread. Now there'3 that Pennythorne, a monster 
of vulgarity 

Alice, (with fervour) So I say. 

Gerald, (aside) That's hearty. 

Alice. And yet ho will come continually, when he knows his atten- 
tions are naur-eonsto ir.e. 

Geiiald. (surprised) Attentions? You don't mean to say he pre- 
sumes to 

Alice. He do^s though, and it's breaking my heart. 

Gerald, (aside) W hat's this ? How is it that I feel a sudden longing' 
to seiza Pennythorne by tlie collar and shake the life out of him ? (icith 
concentrated rage) I — I — a — I wonder if it's left off raining. (Just turning 
up a little) 

Alice. But it's absurd of mj mentioning my troubles to you. 

Gerald. On the contrary, after the generous interest you have 
shewn for my impoverished condition, it would be strange indeed if I 
didn't exiiibit some sympathy for your troubles. Confide in me — tell 
me all about it. 

Alice. Well, though he must perceive that his attentions are nnwel- 
conte, he pers cutes me 

Gerald. Persecutes you, Alice — excuse me, I'm carried away by vay 
feelings, and I can't call you Barlow. If the scoundrel dare — 

Alice. Oh, hush ! hush ! they'll hear you and 

Gerald. You to be sacrificed to such a fellow. You, who Oh, 
Alice if I had enough to support a wife, I'd 

Alice. Gracious ! What 

Gerald. I can't go without saying it, but I'll be off directly I've 
done. I'm a poor devil and I'm growingfocder of you every day. I've 
no business to think of you — still less to tell you that I do. But I can't 
help it. I love you, A ice, and — (Alice turns away) There, there, of 
course you're off.mded. I know it's wrong of me. Perhaps if I'd been 
able to say this under happier circumstances you might have — but as 



ACT I. li 

it is, it's nbsnrd, of course. Good bye. Sliake hands, and forget what 
I've paid. I'm very, very sorry I've offended you. 

Alice. Offended me. 

Gerald. What— not vexed with me? Give me your hand, then 
(hoklinrf his hand out — sJie takes it.) 

Alice, It's yours to keep, if you like. 

Gerald. Oli, you blessed girl ! {clasps Tier in Ms arms!) 
Joe B.vklow enters from shop, unperceived, andlooks at themin dismay. 

(tERALD. I'm the happiest man in the world, Alice ! No more idling-, 
no more complainiuof, I will get something to do. I shall have some 
one to work for now, for look you, Alice, I'll never ask your uncle's 
consent, until I can do so without a blush. I'll not take you from a 
comfortable home to share my wretched lot. 

Alice. We can wait, Gerald. 

GiiRALD. Tlien, when I have a fitting home to fake you to, I'll come 
and ask y(m of Lira, and not till then. You shall not begin your wed- 
ded life by feeling asliamed of your husband, Alice. 

Joe. {coming a little down) He — hem ! (Alice breaks aicayfrom him, 
andruslies into her iincle's amis.) 

Alice, (u.) Oh, forgive us. Uncle Joe. 

Joe. (c.) Forgive you, my cliild, what for? I've heard what you've 
said, Mr, Goodwin, you've spoken like an honest man, and there's my 
hand, sir. (Gerald grasps it) You are a gentleman. Don't think too 
lightly of the old tradesman's daughter, bt-cause you've won her young 
heart so easily. Siie's fit to marry an emperor. You'll find respect- 
able employment yet, my lad, and you're both young enougli to wait 
ever so long, and — {bringing them a little foricard) I — a — I wouldn't 
my anything about it at present to Mrs. Bartow, (tiirnswp) 

Gerald. I must lose no time now, Alice. 

Penny, {tcithoiit) All right, I'll find her. 

Joe. Hallo, here's Penny thorne, as usual. 

Enter Mr. Penntthorne, he is dressed in a sporting style and is in 
suffereibly siwbbish in his general apnearance and manner, l. d. Alice 
dts, arm chair, R. 

Joe, Morning, morning. 

Penny. Holloa, quite a family ptrty, eh! Morning, Miss Alice. 
(takes off his hat, bows) How are you? {very curtly to Gerald — aside) 
Al ce looks flushed. Been having a ro.v here, its evident. Hang this 
fellow, he's always here, he's reg'larly laid on lilie the gas. (aloud) 
Well, young gentleman, and how's the worW been using you ? 

Gerald. J)uuch the same as they say you use your horses, badly 
enouirh. 

Joe. Ea, ha, ha ! So tliey do, Pennythorno, that's a fact. 

Pexny. (l. C, mockingly) Ha, ha, ha ! people had better mind their 
ow 1 business, tliat is when they've got any business. 80 many fellers 
one sees about haven't got any business ; it's almost a wonder how 
tlu-y manage to live, ain't it, Mr. Goodwins? 

Gerald. Goodwin, not Goodwins, Mr. Pennythorne. Don't mix me 
up wiih the sands of that name, pray. 

Penny, {'o Joe) Do you hear that? Pretty insolence! Mix him up 
with the sands — that's a dig at your moist sugar. Why dou't you kick 
him out? Where's your pride? 

Joe. I'm not in the habit of kicking people out of my houso ; but I — 
a — {looldng significantly) don't know what I might do in certain cases. 
(aside) He'd be a nice son-in-law he would. 

Uxit, c. D. 

Penny, (l., turns and sees ALICE and Gerald talking, up R., aside.') 



12 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

That looks pretty — old Barlow's in his second childhood, to have this 
fellow about the place. 

Gerald. Pennythorne, has it left offrainimr? 

Penny. Yes, Mister Goodwin, it has. {asicU) Ain't got niucli on to 
spoil I should say. 

Gerald. Ch irniing as your society is, I fi'ar I must tear myself nway. 

Penny, {as'de) It' he tears himself much more he'll come to pieces. 
(<<? Gerald) Dont apoloorize: my coming here needn't detain you. (Ge- 
rald shakes hands with Alice, who rises) 

Gerald. On the contrary, that's what sends me out. {aside to Pen- 
nythorne) Make yourself agreeable when I'm away. (Pennythorne 
grins horribly at being chaffed) You'll find it difficult, l)ut perservere. 
Good morninjr. {seizing his hand and xcringing it) Don't indulge in your 
usual hiffliflown intellectual conversation; bring yourself do«n to her 
level, {icrings Jiis hand again) Bh S3 you, my dear sir, bless you ! {Exit 
at door, L. c. 

(Alice sits in easy chair, R. and works.) 

Penny, {aside) That fellow's a lunatic. Tho sooner that chap's < ff 
the premises the better. 

Alice. Ah, you don't likel.im, do you? 

Penny, {aside) 'W^ell, he's not my sort. 

Alice. No, that he certainly is not. 

Penny. I don't like your clever spoken people, with nothin^to back 
5t up. Ready wit's rubbish— ready money's what I respect. You can't 
get on witliout money, but j'ou can do very well without being over- 
loaded with bmins, 

Alice (r.) Yorc've done very well I believe? 

Penny, (l., leans*on Alice's chair) Yes, I have. Miss Alice ; — I can 
write my cheque for a tidy sum any day in the week. But I aint sel- 
fish, I'll share it all with the girl of my 'art. 

Alice. Oh, she'll be a happy woman. 

Penny. I've a nice liouse — top windows overlooking as pleasant a sta- 
ble yard as you'd wish to see. When the hay comes in fresh of a Mon- 
day, it smells quite rooral. I've got as nice a trap 

Alice. Trap — yes, — baited with 

Penny. You don't bait carriages, you bait'orS'S. {aside) What inno- 
cence for the Boro'. {aloud) Yes, Miss Alice. I've every comfort, every 
comfort except one, Miss Alice, {ogles he?') 

Alice, {aside) If he looks at lue in that way, I shall laugh in h's 
face. I know 1 shall. 

Penny. When the labors of the day are over, there's no domestic 
comfort for me. No one lo welcome me home, except old Jane, and old 
Jane, thouirh well meaning, has fits about the 'ouse, which is hor- 
rible. So I'm drove from my fireside to the parlor of the Blue Lion 
and there I try to drown it in the b iwl. But, Alice, there is some fe;;l- 
ings as refus;es to be dr-)wnded. {getting close to her) 

Alice, {aside) Oh, this is dreadful, {rising) 

Penny. What's tlie u?eof beating about the bush'i' Yon must hava 
noticed my frequent visits, my languishing looks, my continual sighs, 
my pining c<nidiiion. Alice, I love you. 
Alice. Oh, Mr. Pennythorne! 

Penny. It ain't a bad offer. You shall have the best fly whenever 
you want it, and old Tom Blower, when he's clean shaved, looks like a 
reg'lar gentleman's coachman. You shall have your pick of the 'orses 
and there's a little room, without a chiraley, looking on to the stables, 
as sliall be fitted up as a boodwor, all to yourself. Add to these the 
devotion of a faithful 'art, and what more can you desire ? 
AliiCB. Oh, a great deal more, Mr. Pennythorne. 



ACT I. 13 

Penny. Oaly name it, an 1 I lay it — if procurable, at your feet. Is it 
jewlery ? 

Alice. Mr. Penny thorne, lam jrreatly flattered by your offer. 
Pennt. Name it not, most adorable of your sex. Your patli shall 
be one of roses. Of course I mean as a figure of speech, for roses in 

our livery yard would be out of place : but still 

Alice. I appreciate your motives, aud thank you, but— — 

Penny. Dou't say " bui' 

Alice. But I cannot accept your offer. 
Pe>}NY. {suddenly dropping tlie insinuating) Why not? 
Alice. I liavo said I thank you for your kindness, and can only re- 
peat that I cannot accept your hand. 
Penny. You won't, ch ? 
Alice. I connot. 

Penny. Somebody else has 

Alic.o. Pray do not continue the subject (crossing, I-.) 
Penny, (u) You're liia<;iug away such a chance as you won't get 
again. Don't be a fool, Alice, (crossing, R.) 

Alice, (l.) Mr. Pi-nnythorne, you forjiet. yourself, (crossing, R.) Ne- 
ver mention this subject to me again. Exit, k. door. 

Penny, (going rip) You're a fine proud madam, you»xe ; a nice haugh- 
ty aristocratic knock-ine-down air you've fi:ot. Yes, and I like you all 
the b-itter for it. (coming down) I hate your patient docile animals ; 
giverae a brute, with a bit of temper, and there's some pleasure in fight- 
ing with it, and breaking it, and getting the best of it. And I'll get 
the bjstof you, my pretty filly, or I'm mucu mistaken — She's no lover, 
I've watched her closely, and I should have known it if she had. Old 
Barlow keeps no company, I'm young, pretty well off, not so baddook- 
injT, but she won't have me. And yet some f jlks talk about women 
equalling us in hintellect, 

Fluker. (heard loithin shop) Thank you — thank you very much, b«t 
I want to speak to him alone. Thank you — thank you very much, 
Flukeii, aimni little elderly man icith a fumy vvxnner, puts his head in 

then enters door C. 
Yes, lie is here, all right, (closes the door) 

Penny, (cikde) Who's this party t (turns tip, n. — Flvkeu looks at 
7dm through glasses admiringly) 

Fluk. (down L.) Ha 1 Quite ignorant of the event which has so al- 
tered his immediate prospects, " Alas ! how heedless of their fate the 
little creatures play.' Hem! scarcely an apt quotation perhaps, as in 
this instance the little crearure is not playiuir, (goes to L., before fire) 

Penny, (aside) Awkward situation — why don't someone come? 
(Fluker goes up to bach, coining down, h) Take a chair, sir? (gives arm 
chair, R.) 

Fluk. (blandly) Thaijk you-^tUank you very much ! (goes iXDimd 
chair too.) Fine day! 

Penny, (down, l ) Was rainmg. 

Fluk. (l. C.) Quite right, it was; but not now — teas raining^rrrz's fine. 
Ha ! ha! ha! 

Penny. Who is he, I wonder? (leaning against mantel piece) 
FX..UK, (L. c. — aside) There's no mistaking tha likeness. There's no 
object in breaking the news too suddenly ; I'll draw him out, and ob- 
serve his character — it's my way. (sits and indicates thai he^mshes Pen- 
NYTHORNB to s't too — both Seated— to Pennytuorke. qfcer looking 
round) This is a strange world, sir. 

Penny, (l. C.) You'll excuse me, but you don't consider that an origi- 
nal remark, do you ? 



14 A HUNDRED THOUSAND i^OUKDS. 

Fluk. (R. C.) Ila ! ha ! ha 1 Very ffood ! very well put. No, it is 
far from orifriaal. But tiien what is original, woaid you be kind 
euouiih to inform me now ? 

Penny. Well 

Fluk. Thank you, thank you very much. 
Penny. My osller, T<om Blower, he's ori<rinal. 

Fluk. lla ! ha! just so, just so! very well put! Haven't the hon- 
our of Mr. Blower's iicquaiiuance, but take your word for it. (aside) 
Just Ills uncle's droll v ay. It runs iu the family — runs in the family. 
Penny, (aside) I don't feel altogether easy with this party. 
Fluk. You'll excuse a stranger but one v.-ho I trust is not long to 
renaaiu so. (howin;/) 
Penny, (boics) Oh. 

Fluk. Yes; tliank you — thank you very much. You'll excuse me 
I repeat, if I coigratulate you upon the calling you appear to have 
adopted ou being thrown upon an unsympailKuic world. 

PxiNNV. (aside) What's ho driving at ? Thrown upon an unsympa- 
thetic v.orlil ! I was never thrown but once in my life, and tiiat was 
upon Barnes Common. 

Fluk. lla ! ha ! ha ! (aside) The same vein of liumour as his un- 
cle's, (aloud) I mean you seem to have fallen on your legs 
Penny. No I didn't; anything but. 
Fluk. You appear to have turned your equine tastes to account ; 

still for a man ot your faijiily 

Penny. Bless you, I've ijo family ; I'm a bachelor. 
Fluk. Yes, yes, of courser-^ha, ha 1 (aside) He's dreadfully livery- 
stablish in his appearance ; but, poor fellow, what could he do? (aloud) 
But it's a long lane that has no turning, my dear sir, and brighter 
davs are in store for us. 

t'ENNY. What, for you and me ? 

Fluk. No, not fur me — for you; quite right to be particular — busi- 
ness-like in the extreme. 

Penny. Now look here — I'm a plain man, 
Fluk. You are, you are. Very well put. 
Penny. Then come to the point please. 

Fluk. (after loolciiig round mysteriously and toucMng his heart) 
Excuse me ; but all rig. it there — llie heart you know 'I 
Penny. I'm as good-hearted as my neighbors. 

Fluk. Not what I mean exactly. You don't suffer from palpita- 
tion ? You can bear a sudden announcement, I suppose ? 
Penny. This is horrid ! 

Fluk. For I have a communication to make to you of the most 
overwhelming importance. You — ^—(gets nearer to him) 
Pknny. Yes — speak up. 
Fluk. You-a — 
Penny. Well? 
Fluk. You had an uncle ! 
Penny, (sits hack and stares) What of it ? 

Fluk. I was his lawyer. H j is no more. I can scarcely expect yoa 
to exhibit much grief, bince you are, in consequence of the sad occur- 
rence, the possessor of a gigantic fortune. 

Penny, (gasping) A gigantic 

Fluk. (rapidly) One hundred thousand pounds ! 
Penny, (after looking round hcwildered, rises, grasps tJiehack of his 
chair, and gasps) Say it again ! 

Fluk. (pleasantly and slowly) One hundred thousand pounds 
PjaifNY. Phew ! some mistalte may-: — - 



ACT I. 15 

Fluk. Oar firm doesn't inn.kc mistakes, my dear sir. (sits back, with 
glasses raised, watching Pennythoka^k iciih a bland smile) 

Pennv {crossi/ij k.) Me, wiilia hundred thuusimd p.)uuda. It was 
always a queriiiou who old Bea Peimythorne, wlio made a fortune in 
Australia, sheep f;iriniii<r. would leave his money to. Hooray! A liuii- 
dred thousand pounds I I'll sell the blessed business, {crosses n.) Send 
Tom Blower to the rig-ht about. I'll become a p-entlemau ; it 11 p:\\o 
me a good deal of trouble, but I'll doit, {crossing L.) Ill marrv a 

re^u'ar ihorouLrli-br.d aristocratic female. A hiyh stepper — I'll ^I'll 

— (Flukeu 1-ises) I say, this isn't some practical ioke 'i {almost tear- 
fid!;/) It's no ctmfounded cruel lark? 

Fi^UK. (r.) Our firm never larks, sir. 

Pa'NNY. Ha ! ha ! ha ! {shakes Flukku and turns Mm round to r., cross- 
es'R,and'walks up and down excitedly) A hundred thousand pounds ! I 
knew it. {crosses l.) :..other always said I should bea rich man ; but I 
must let 'em all kiow my g:ood luck. Here Joe Barlow ! Mrs. B. ? 
Alije ! 'liere, all of you, liere, hi ! What'U bring 'em? — Here, sho^i — 
That'll do it. {shakes Fluker again and throws himself on sofa. R. 

Fluk. looking at him through his eyeglasses admiringly) Delight- 
ful ! He scorns to dis.icuise his joy — excitable and impetuous — like his 
uncle — charming, charming I Pennythobne thrcnos himself <m Sofa 
and kicks over basket) 

Enter Joe and Mrs. Barlow, c. 

Jon. (r) What's the matter ? what's up now ? 

Penny, (c.) A liundred thousand poands, that's " "What's the mat- 
ter." Where's Alice ? 

Enter Alice, r. door, she comes down K. 
Here, I say, a hundred thousand pounds, you know. Hal hal (daJlCCSf 
then sinks into a chair) 

Enter Arabella rt?i(Z Jai^e, cdoor, dcmniu 

Joe. He'soff his poor 'ead. 

Mus. B. (L.) You'd better fetch a doctor, Joe. 

Penny, {crossing, L.) Here, Arabella Plover, Jane Pell — the more 
the merrier — I say, girls, I'm worth a hundred thousand pounds. 

Ar.yb. and Jane. Law ! 

Enter Shopboy, c, door, down r, corner. 

Pexny. {crossing, r.) Law — yes! I should think it is law — ain't it 
Fluker '.' {dif/ging him in the ribs) Here, Tommy, {to Shofboy) Come 
here, sir. You've always been very civil to me — I'vecome into a hun- 
dred thousand pounds — here's a penny for you. 

Enter Gerald, c. door, stands, L. c. 

Penny, (r. c,) Ha! ha! here, you sir, I don't bear malice, you 
know. I've come into a fortune, but I ain't proud — tliere — there's my 
hrtnd, Goodwin. 

Fluk. m.c., {starting violently) What' Goodwin? Gerald Goodwin— 
ain't yoit Mr. Goodwin ? 

Penny, (r.) No! 

Geuald. (l. c ) /am Gerald Goodwin most certainly. I don't think 
any one would care to dispute my claim to that unenviable appellation. 

IFluk. (r. c. horrified) Oh, my dear sir, {to Pennythorne) I've 
made an awful mistake. They told me I si»ould find j\lr. Goodwin here; 
I thought at the first glance that you resembled the late lainentt-d. JSe 
was short — you were short — he w;is ugly — you were ugly. It's not you 
at all — it's you, my dear sir. {to Ger.yld) Your uncle, Mr. DeBborough, 



16 A IIUXDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

is no more, and yon have come into tlie hundred thousand pounds. 
I confjralulate you, my dear sir — warmly, warmly I 

(Joe and Mus. Barlott turn to Gerald, grasping each a Jiand) 

Joe. Congratulate you. 1 

Mrs. B. Congratulate you. | 

Arab, and Jane, {also taking his hand) Con- V {together) 

gratulate you, Mr. Goodwin, I'm sure. 1 

Fluk. Congratulate you, iudeed. j 

(Mrs. Barlow and Jok and Fluker croiod round Gerald, v^Jio 
appears overcome — Pennythornk after looking on in stupid amaze- 
ment. falls into the Shopboy's arms — Alice, a little way apart and 
in front, looks with an expression of anxiety and distrust at Gerald, 
as the Curtain descends slowly — the group surrounding Gerald con- 
gratulate him loudly) 



END OF THE FIRST ACT. 



ACT IL 



Scene. — A Room in the House of Gerald Goodwin, furnished most 
elegantly ; doors, R. and L,y hay window, r. c./ two easy cJmirs, R, C; 
sofa, li. 

Pyefinch discovered at table, R. c, putting away breakfast things on to 

a tray. 
Pyep. Two o'clock, {looking at his watcli) Master's good for another 

four hours at least, then I suppose he'll come home and dress — then 

club — then opera — then grilled bones — then cards, and then far away 

in the dim future, bed. {sings) 

There was a party as came from Flanders, 

And his complexion it was very fair; 
His eyes they sparkled like two salamanders, 

And bright and curly was his 'ead of 'air. 

This 'andsome party as came from Flanders, 
Of his complexion took tremenjous care ; 

He was took quite sudden with the yaller jarnders, 
And his complexion isn't what it were. 

Master goes it he does. Not much putting by with him, quite right 
too ; for my part, I consider a party as puts by unworthy the name of 
a man. 

Pennythorne appears at door, L. 
Ah I you there, Mr. Pennythorne ? Horntray, mon nammy — Hontra ! 
Enter Pennythorne, door, l. 
Penny, (l.) Why can't you say " come in." You're so fond of them 
French phrases — I hate foreigners, I think they come of a bad Stock 
Pyef. (r.) Ah, you're prej udiced. 



ACT II. 17 

Penny. I should be precious sorry if I wasn't. I'm a Briton, I am 1 
Did voii ever see a Frenchman ride ? 

Pyef. Often. 

Penny. Well, then, how can you respect 'em? Then look at their 
ciokery — what ain't prease is vinefjar I 1 never tried but one French 
dinner, and I shall never foro^et it — give me a good honest English 
beefsteak as lets you know he's there ! {striking his chest — Penny- 
THOUNB crossing, l.) Look, here's a guinea's worth of swimming in 
the yead with a foreign name to it. Now, if that was translated it 
would be dear at two-und-six. 

Pyef. Ha! lia! a party de four grar at two-and-six. 

Penny. What's a parti/ defoiir grar? Enough for a party of four ? 

Pyef. No — no! Party's the jrenteel word for Patty. 

Penny. Is it? I alwjiys thontrlit the genteel name for Patty was 
Martha. Been having a spread, I suppose! 

Pyef. No — only Major Blackshaw to breakTast. Him and master 
an^ as thick as 

Penny. Go on, finigh the simile. Thieves ain't a pleasant word ; 
but perhaps it's appropriate. 

Pyef. Nothing of the kind! The Major's a man of substance, and if 
you want to spec'late you can't do better than invest in anything you 
see his name to — I have done so with my small savings — sub rosy, ot 
course. 

Penny. Well, nice hours your master keeps — he's out I know, for I 
S''nt his 'orse round, the bay stepper, an hour ago. I wanted to recom- 
mend him a chesuut mare as is to be had for a mere song. If he seea 
her he'll buy her. safe as the Dank. 

Pyep. And what's your notion of a mere song, now? 

Penny. Oh, somewhere between two hundred and thirty. 

Pyef. Two hundr&i and thirty pounds a mere song! I should call 
that a hintire hopra! 

Penny. When you sf^e it, burst out into rapture ; and if your master 
and meTcome to terms, I shall be proud to hand you over a fiver. He'll 
buy it ! Oil, you know the old proverb, " Set a beggar on horseback," 
and setterer. 

Pyef. Don't see how it applies, though. 

Penny, {confidentially) Bless you, it's not so long ago that your mas- 
ter was hard up — shabbiest chap you ever see — used to live at a cheese 
and candle shop. 

Pyef. I know; Mr. Barlow's a relative of mine. 

Phxny. Doose he is ! 

Pyef Yes ; married a distant rclatioa of mine from Shropshire. 
When I called in to see him, and described my new master, I thought 
as Alice would [breaks dotcn.) 

Penny, {n.— fiercely) What? Goon! 

Pyef. (l.) Look here, Mr. Pennythorne, don't address me as if I was 
an 'ors — jt^st as if you wanted me to " come over !" 

Penny, {milder) Ah, go on, yon can tell me ; I'm a friend of ih.^ 
fatnily. 

Pyef. {aside) Happy family! Well, she turned pale and trembled, 
and then she crew scarlet, and so says I 

Penny. Spoons, says you — eh? 

Pyef. W hat a man you are to see into a party's mind 1 

Penny. Go on, old fellow — go on. 



18 A HUNDRED THOUSAND t^OUNDS. 

Pysf. Well, dropping ia occasional of an evcninir, and smoking' a 
pipe wicb Mr. B.iriow, 1 soon be<ran to see it all. VVhy she's never 
tirj.l of asking quesiiuns about liiu). It's my belief she'd never leave 
oIFtalkin;^ about him — never. 

Pexnv. Wouldn't sho, though — a pretty jilted, soft-hearted thinfr [ 

PyEP. Well, I've a soft heart myself, and when she begged and 
prayed me to let lier come here some morning when master was out, 
and have a peep at the place he lives in, I hadn't the courage to refuse 
her. 

Pevky. Hadn't you, though ? Very kind and nice of you — very 
(asili) Thick-headed fjol ! 

Pyep. I thought it might be some small comfort to her, poor girl; 
and I've bjeu in love myself once. 

Pexny. Only oncj ? 

Pyef. Yes, and was cruelly thrown over. 

Pen^ny. All 1 you look it. 

Pyef. And ii's my belief poor thing, she's pining away. 

Penny. Bah ! p^^-ople don't pine away in the Boro. No, they bow 
their neck to misfortune, and — take a beeishop. 

Pyef. Ah ! then you don.t believe in n mance ? 

Penny. Romance ! — no. I put my money on a 'orse of that name 
once, but he broke down at the corner. I'd have sooner backed " Maf- 
ter-o'-Fact ;" he was a ])lain looking brute, but lie won easy, {aside, as 
Pyefincii ffoes up) I was right about Alice, she cared for liim after all, 
and she loves him mora than ever. Well, he's rich so that's natural. 
And he threw her over — that's natural. And she won't have any- 
thing to say to me — that's natural, — No, danmit! that's not natural. 
Well, I'm o{^{(/oes up n., putting on his gloves, and comesdoicn i.,) just 
going to see Mr. Fluker — I employ him now. Pyefinch, by the way, 
you were talking ab )ut yoursavings ; you don't happen to have a few 
huiulreJs you'd liiie to lend on good security ? because I know a party 
who wants money. 

Pyef. Ah, everybody knows 1dm. No, I haven't at present ; I've 
been spec'latin' a little en 'ouse property lately. There was three lit- 
tle cottages as cauglit my eye at 'Olloway, and so I 

Penny. Oh, all right ! don't trouble yonrself to explain, {aside) 
Ma hard up, and everything here actually reeking of ready money ! 
The very valiet going out and collaring of cottages ! I'm boiling over 
with annoyanc-c, and I nmst distract my mind somehow. I know — I'll 
go home and blow up old Tom Blower — he's sixty-eight and asmatical 
— and it'll do me oiiod. If he ain't in the way, I'll go over to th ' 
Boro' and blow up old Barlow ; and if he ain't in the way, dammy ! I 
shall blow up myself. Exit, door l. 

Pyef. {turning to the tnUe) Pleasant fellow that — deal of the mi k 
of human kindness theri'. lie's the sort of party as v»'oiild sell up his 
father smiliu'. {sings). 

Tliis wretched party as came from Flanders, 
Who lost his tormier couiph'xion rare, 

Heioped to Hingia with Ile.iza Saunders, 
Who lived close by to Canonburj- Square. 

I'm glad he's gone, though ; for if that poor disappointed gal was to 
come when he was here, there might be words. 

Enter Alice, leaning on Joe s arm, l. door. 
Joe. You would come, my dear — you would come. There was no 
keeping you from it. I think it's very silly of you when a fellow be- 



ACT II. 1'0> 

haves like a — (Alice looks at him) Well, there, I don't say anythinof 
against him ; he's goc a conscience. People with a hundred 
thousand pounds even have consciences I believe ; and that'll talk to 
him harder tlian I could. 

Alice, {a'ossing, c.) You're sure he's out for a lonp: time? 

Pyef. (r.) i'es, or 'I'll never have consented to your coming here. 
As it is, I tnmble in my shoes. 

Joe. Cl.) Ahl and very comfortable shoes they are to tremble in, 
John Pyelincli. There, my dear, 3-ou've had your wish. 

Alice. I wished to see the place he lived in dear uncle! When I go 
away I can picture the whole scene : see him in his handsome rooms 
surrounded by his friends, who all love him so : see him with his face 
liglited up with happiness — hear his ringing laugh, his cheery voice, 
It was a loolish fancy, but it's only for this once, uncle Joe — only tliia 
once, {sinks on to a chair, c.) 

Joe. (aside) I do not understand women ; I've been married forty 
year come May, and know nothing about 'em — they're what my Sun- 
day paper calls a terra hincognito. 

Pyep. Quite anrree 1 witli you as regards terror, {crossing, c.) 

Joe. Tiiey're like spaniels, John, the liarsii^ r you are to 'em, the 
more fond they grow of you. It wae a misiake his saying lie loved 
her — he knew she was coming into a tidy property, and as he was hard 
up, why 

Alice, {rising) Don't speak like that of him — I am sure he loved 
me — it is not fair to think he could marry one in my humble station 
— it would disgrace him amongst his friends, who are people of his 
own class. 

Joe. (c) Not many of 'em, I hope, for the sake of society. 

Alice. Besides I should be so out of place as the wife of a rich genth?- 
man ; people would look down upon me and laugh at my ignorant 
ways, 

Joe. (c) Ignorant of what! Ignorant of pretence and sham, and fine 
Frenchified airs. 

Alice. Oh, uncle, uncle, you wrong him — you do, indeed ! Ton spenk 
of pour pride, that pride I share, and though lam not ashamed to tell 
you tliat I love liim still, I shall remember what is due to you, and to 
myself, {sits, R.) 

Pyef. {down, L.) Ahl Ill-assorted matches nre dreadful things. 
When I was in the service of old Mrs. \Vigsby, Oriental widow, in 
Bruton Street, with a lac of rupees and one tooth, I might have made 
a splendid marriage, for the old ] ar y's Hie was one long ogle ; but 
" No," I says, " Pyefinch," I says, " better is penury with the girl of 
your affections, tlian the silken lap of luxury when sentiments and 
Bets of leeth do not assimulate. 

Joe. Well, I don't oft n come into this neighbourhood so I'll take 
the opportunity of going to see my old irirnd Ned Loinax in Princes 
Street ; he's in the oil and colour line is Ned, and going on wonderfni. 
I shall be backsoon. Ally, my dear, {going — aside to Pyefinch) Como 
along, and leave her alone a bit, John — slie'U have a reg'lar good cry, 
and como back to the Boro' quite refreshed. Come alonir ! 

Exit Pyefinch and Joe, door L. 

Alice, {looking after Joe. and leaning on chair) Kind, dear good 
uncle Joe ; no sudden access of wealth would have changed 2/o^r simple 
honest nature. Fortune may smile or frown on you ; but rich or poor 
you would be the same, I know. But, Gerald, should 7 have acted so ? 
And yet, compared with him, I was actually rich ; but he never knew 
it when he asked me to be his wife. Tliey cannot accuse him of tliat 
at all events, {icalks dmcn) It was my own fault, I should have told 



SsOi A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

him all — liavo placed the money ia liis hands, and bid him use it for 
tlie best. " You shall not begiu your wedded life by feeling ashamed of 
your husband." Those were his words, and he meant them. Oh, 
money, money 1 how I hate its very name ! 

Enter Pyefinch, rapidly, doicn \,. 

Ptef. Here's master coming down the street with Major Blackshaw. 
Whatever is to be done ? 

Alice. O'.i, let me ^» — let me po ! (rising and going, L ) 

Pykf {stopping her) Oh, but he's hurrying along, so you''re sure to 
meet him. 

Alice. Anything rather than that. What shall I do ? What shall 
I do? 

Pyef. What shall you do? What shall I do ? What does he mean 
by coming back unexpected, and taking a party unawares ? There he 
is on the stairs. 

Alice, {in alarm) Oli, why did I ever come ? Why did I ever 
c )me ? 

Gerald, {witlutut Ij .) On the contrary, my dear fellow, I'm only too 
glad I met you. 

Alice. {tremMingly, and greatly agitated) Put me somewhere, any- 
where. I'd rather die than meet him here. 

Pyef. Th^re, there — go in there. They'll go poon. 

Alice hurries into room, K. 

Pyef. {his back to door) This'll be a warning , to me: perhaps a 
month's warning. Oh, woman — woman ! it's my opinion — — 

Enter Gekald, door, l — he is dressed in the first style of fashion. 

Gerald. Come along, Blackshaw, what a slow fL41owyou are. Come 
along. {j>uts his hat doion ii.) 

Enter Major Blackshaw, door, l, 

Majob. (l) Slow and sure, my dear fellow, slow and sure. If I'd 
been as impetuous as you, I should never have been worth a penny. 
{takes off gloves and sits, looking at Pyefinch, who is fidgctting about 
toith his back to the door, R.) Has your man got St. Vitus's dance. 

Pyef. Certainly not, sir. 

Major. Can't bear fidgetty people. 

Gerald. You needn't stay, Pyefinch. 

Pyef. {coming down, L,) Beg pardon, sir — thought you might 
want 

Major, Not at present, 

Pyef. Very good, sir, {aside) The cold water that's running down 
my back, would float a hirou clad. Exit door L. 

Major. Besides those stairs are no joke, they're contrived to test 
people's tendency to palpitation of the lieait I should say, like those at 
tlie insurance officr^s. 

Gerald, (r.) Now, Blackshaw. don't talk shop. It's an extraord- 
inary tiling, you never can drop that British and Foreign National Aus- 
tralasian, what is it Company of yours. I can never master the title ; 
what is it for the thousand and oneth time? 

M.VJOR. Ha, never mind the title, my volatile young friend ; it'ssut 
ficient for you that you are to be a director. Have a weed ? 

Gerald. Not at present, thanks. 

Major. Should, {lights cigar) Smoking steadies the nerves. What 
would life be without smoke ? a dreary blank. Apropos of blank, my 
generally vivacious friend, you don't s^'etn in your usual spirits. 

Gerald. Oh, yes, I am, Blackshaw — it's only your fancy. 

Major. "Fancy?" Don't deal ia the article; leave that sort of 



ACT n, 21 

thing to poets, wlio're all inspired idiots. One of 'em— is'nt it Shake- 
speare ? says, " whai's in a mime ?" He never started a company ; un- 
less it was a tlieatrical one ! 

Gerald. You profess great reverence for titles, Blacksliaw— yet I 
never see your name at any fashionable gatherings. 1 should have 
thought now 

Majok. Sliould you ? My young friend, you're new to this fott of 
thing — I'm not— socially swells bore me — late hours vi'ould interfere 
with business. Business before everything ! By the way, you're still 
of the same mind about the Brittanic and Australasian — of course a 
few thousands will be a trifle to you. Money makes money, and I shall 
beable to introduce you to a dozen good things. 

Gerald. Oli! I'm in your hands, Blackshaw, and when I get the 
money 

Major. Ali, Fluker'sisa horrid dilatory firm — meanwhile look ou 
me as your banker. 

Gerald. Thanks, Blackshaw — I'm deeply in your debt as it is, 
{hangs his head dejectedly.) 

Major, {after looking at him) You'll excuse me making the remark, 
but what deuced bad company you are. 

Gerald. I know it — bad company for my friends, worse for myself. 

Major. Liver. 

Gerald. No ! no 1 

Major. Heart perhaps. 

Gerald, {sighing) That's nearer. 

Major. Bad for a man of business. Never fell in love myself — 
never had time. Excuse me, but are the s^mptons always of this de- 
pressing nature ? I thought Cupid was ratlier a lively card. 

Gerald. I wish I coud make light of it, Blackshaw, but I can't. 
It's very hard to feel that one's a scoundrel I 

Majob. I suppose it is — I never was a scoundrel myself — never had 
time. 

Gerald. I wish I could say as much ! 

Major- A scoundrel with a hundred thousand pounds. The thing's 
impossible, (rmrfe) Wants to confide. Young people always do. {aloud) 
Yiiu're gteting misanthropical. You're too well off. You're suffering 
from a 1 effusion of : filuance ou the brain. You've got too much 
money. 

Gerald, {icith passion) Money — what can money do? 

Major. What can't it do, you mean. 

Gerald. It can't bring back a man's peace of mind. It cnn never 
wipe out the memory of a wicked deed, {comes closer and hecovies more 
intense) Blackshaw, wlien I hadn't a shilling I loved a girl as well and 
purely as a man could love. I little thought how mean and selfish 
would that love become, when money came and made a coward of me. 
Half blind — half mad — I could not hear the voice of honour, it was 
drowned in the rustle of the notes, and the rattle of the gold ; and 
when the short and feverish dream was over, I woke to find myself 
with conscience as my grim companion. By night and day it is be- 
side me, taimting me with the recollection of a mean aud wretched 
act. Blackshaw, you talk of money, why man, I'd give every penny I 
possess to own once more the honest heart I had six months ago. 

Major, {aside) Very violent symptoms indeed ; violent remedies 
alone are effectual in such cases, {aloud) You should get away for a 
bit ; should buy a yacht and do the Mediterranean, or an alpenstock, 
and go in for mountains. There's rather a run upon Norway, just 
now. Why not try Iceland ? {aside) That would cool him. 



22 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

QeuaLD. No, I've seen enouo;l> of '.lie world — too much. 

Major. I presmue she was in a liuuible station ! 

Gerald. Yes, ^-lle was. 

Majo:!. {aside)Tt\ey generally aro. {aloud) A regular case of affoo- 
tion on both sides, eh ! 

Gerald. Shu loved me when I was poor. 

Major, (aside) That was weak, (aloud) And you love lier still ? 

Gervi.d. B'tter than my lit'.:! 

Majou (aside) II -'s very younir. (aloud) Yim see in your nositioa 
yoi can aff »rd to do almost anything — but marry. 

Gerald, (laughs snecringhj) 

Major. Never married myself— never had time. In society .you'll 
find yourself a sort of social target, with everybody aiming at your 
g.)ll. But you musn't think of marrying. 

Ger.\ld. I do not think of it. 

Major. That's right, (hitching chair towards Gekald) Now, we're 
men of the world. 

Gerald. I'm afraid we are. 

M.vjor. You must cast asile all this second-hand chivalry. It's all 
very well in plays and novels, but it don't do in real life. You've a 
career before you, and mnsn't be clogged with a wife. Time enough to 
think of that in ten years. After all it isn't doing these sort of people 
a kindness by m:irryii»g them. She'd have been out of her element. 
If your conscience pricks you, and you can't help thinking about her, 
make lier a handsom : allowance, and 

GEn.\LD. (turning towards him) And what? 

Major. Make a lady of her, hut not Mrs. Goodwin. 

Ger.\.ld. (turning jiarcelg upon him and seizing him) Scoundrel I Re- 
call those words 1 Recall them, Blackshaw, or I'll 

Major. Take your han Is oflf me, you impetuous fool, are you mad? 
Enter Alice, r. dooi', coma down, lu 

Gerald. Unsay them, or I'll shake the lite out of you. 

Major. Hands off! or I'll (goes up, I., c.) 

A1.ICK. (coming down) Help! (jerald ! (she pauses awlcwardlt/) (MAJOtt 
who has been about to grapple tcith Gerald, after apatise, bows to 
Alice, and with a look of amazement goes up, 11. 

Ger.\ld. Alice! you here. 

Alice. Forgive me. I — I — will never come again. It was foolish and 
wrong of me. I beg your pardon, Gerald — Mr. Goodwin. 

Gerald, (about to approach her) Alice. 

Alice, (proudly) W e are strangers now : may you be happy 

Gerald, (bitterly) Happy I 

Alice, (r.) We shall never meet again I It w&s through my own 
wilUul f.dly that we have met now. You cannot regret it more than I 
do. 

Gerald, (c.) I do not regret it, Alice, since it gives me an opportuni- 
ty of asking your pardon very — very humbly for my conduct — with 
that pardon grant me one word of hope. 

Alice. You seem to forget that your friend is present. Farewell ! 
(jgoiny) 

Sill RuMSEY. (heard without) 'Ra.l ha! capital — capital! 

Chark- {without) Ha! ha! not bad I think ! 

Alice, (distressed) Oh, why did I ever come ! 

Major. A pleasant affair, this. 

Enter Pyefinch, l. drops dovm, L. 



ACT II. 23 

Ptbf. (announcing) Sir Rumsey Waters, and Mr. Charker ! (seeing 
Alice) Oh, the murder's out! 

Enter Sir Rumsey Waters and Ch.vrker, l., th'i/ pause on seeing 
Alice. 

Snt Run. Hem, Ciiarker, 1 m afrai i we're 

Chark. Yes, Sir Rimisey, I'm afraid we are. Djosid fine girl! 
(ilietj go up, L.) 

Gerald. Alice — Miss Bailow — permit ine to see you 

Enter ion, door, h. 
jDE No, thankee -IM do iliat ! 

Alice. Uncle ! (ruling to him, and liidlng Iter faee from the others) 
M.\joR. (R. c, ^t> Sir UuMSEV and Ch.\ukek) lia.UL-r uMph-asanL 
nnbroiriio — 1 suouldn't advise you tj joke hiiu ab.Jiit it. {retires up, L. 
c. with CharivEu and Sir Rumsey) 

Joe. (aside) I'll br ak ever/ bone in John Pyefinch"s skin for tellinrj 
us mere wouldn't be not a soul here till the evening. Tiiia will be a 
warning to you, Ally, my child. You would come, and a nice uiets 
you've made of it. 

Gerald, (r) Mr. Barlow, I am greatly to blume ; but not in this 
instance, believe me. 

Joe. Bah ! Come, Ally. 

Alice. Uncle, don't part with liim in anger. Surely he is free to act 
as he pleases. You would for<rive hiui if you had heard how he de- 
fended my gfood name acjainst one wlio would have sullied it. 
Joe. Who's thai? — where is lie? I'll lut him s e. 

(M.-VJOR makes a slight movememenf xip stage. 
Alice. No, no, it was only wilt and heedless talk, which 1 had no 
right to hear, but he would not brook it. Don't part from him iu au- 
ger, uncle Joe. 
Joe. Anger 1 Ila ! 

Gerald. Won't you shake hands with me ? 

Joe. No, sir. I am a very hunibie common sor! of mnn, but I don't 
shake bands with everybody. You've seen the last of ws, sir. We shall 
never darken your door again, {softening a little). I thought I could 
read a face as e.xsy as a printed book ; I fancied I read yours correct. I 
was wrong. Ally was wrong, and she'll come loknowi' some day. {puis 
/lis arm around her). At first it's a little hard for her, perhaps, but slie'l 
summ)n u,) courage. (.\LICE sobs). You've jsoue your wav — we'll tro 
ou:s. Good morninir, and goodbye, (leads Ai^iciz away, she makes a 
movement as if to speak ty Gerald, hut Joe touches her arm, and she 
exits with a half smothered sob —after a pause) 

Sir R. {coming down, R., with Ciiarkeu). I say, I suppose we may 
spjak now. Have you got nothing to ofT.r us, Goodwin 1 
On ARK. Ha! ha! right. Sir Kumsey. 

GEilALD. Pardon me, gent'emen, I am ashamed to have detained 
yon. (asids) I'll s; ill i tliis maudlin sentiment, (with forced gaiety). 
We're all r)ols som ; time or other, eh, ^Vaters? 
Sir R. Proud and happy to say I've been one myself. Eh, Charker? 
CiiARK. N )t tlia l.'ast doubt of it. (they go up, R.) 
Ger.^.ld. (io Major) Blackshaw, forgive my recent outburst of vir- 
tuous indignation. I was h:ilf mad for the moment. 

Major, (l.) You were. Perhaps you'll take advantage of a lucid 
int.^rval to order in somethinir sparkling — Py. finch ! 
Enter Pyefinch, door, li. 
Pyef. Sir. 
Major. Something sparkling, sir. 



24 A HUNDRED THOUSAND rOUNDS. 

Ptef. Something sparkling ? Yes, sir. Mr. Fhikcr! (Sir RuM- 
SEY, CiiARKER, and Blackshaw sit at table, R. c.) 
EiUer Fluker, door l., fussily. 
Fluk. IIu, quite ti gatherinir, 1 declare. Sir Rumeey — you here 
and darker loo'l Bless uiy soul! quite a gathering— ha, ha, ha! 
Looks liko a board meeting, doesn't it, Blacksliaw'? Goodwin, luy 
<lear sir, I see the mail's arrived, and we shall be able to settle every- 
thing at, once, I hope. 

Siii R. {up, K c.) Hang your law business, let's be jolly, {sits at 
tahlfl, K.) He.e, Pyt fiach, you villain, be continually bringing intoxicat- 
ing fluids until you're told to stop, sir. 

Pyep. "ies. Sir Rumsey. (aside). And there's that poor gal in a dead 
faiut in the housL-keeper's room. Oh, this alteruoou'll turn my 'air 
grey ! 

Sir R. What's tliis — champagne? bah ! only fit for vj'omen and fools ! 
Sauterne — ugli 1 Got any brandy ? nothing like it for the nerves. 
Gerald. Aye, brandy I 

Major. Help yoursed--you want it. {pushes decanter to Mm.) 
Chark. Wed, for my i)urt--rin a nubudy, and I conless Clicquot's 
good enough for nie. (Gerald fills and drinks). 

Fluk. Ha, ha, ha! very well put, Charker, very well put. 
Major. What do you say to dining at Greenwich to-day — It'll do 
us all good ? 

Sir R. Well thought of, Major. "\Vhat do you say, Goodwin ? 
Gerald, {excited). ' With all my heart. 

Major. {rising, with an important manner). All those who are in 
favor of this proposition will be pleased to hold up their hands, {busi- 
ness) Ha, ha ! carried unanimously, {they rattle their glasses and turn 
■with tJceir backs to Audience, talking together) 
Pennythorne appears at door, L., and beckons Flxjker. 
Penny, {in a fierce whisper). Come here, come here I 

Fluxc. {in the act of raising to lips) Bless my heart, Mr. Pen 

Penny. Hush! come here, I tell you — noose, uoose ! 
Fluk. (aside) Nooso! Oh, hang it ! Exit,T> z... unnoticed. 
Sir R. a capital notion — you always are tumbling over capital no, 
ttons — the "Biitish and Australasian" was j'(?w7* notion, major, and a 
deuced good one too. 

Gerald. Now, Sir Rumsey, drop the " Company." Don't let's have 
the skeleton at the banquet. By-the-by, talking of skeletons, where's 
Fluker ? {turning round a little) 

Major. Sneaked home, depend upon it. He shied at the Trafalgar 
— a close-fisted old hunks ! Like the knights of old, '• a stirrup cup, and 
tlien to hors ■ 1" 

Gerald. Bumpers, my boys ; remember I'm host to-day. 
Sir R. and Major. No, no ! 

(iERALD. But 1 insist, sir. Confound it! don't cross my humor. 
Sir R. The Trafalgar by all means. The old room, Blackshaw— tlie 
snug one with the bay window. 

Major. Yes. 'Twas in Trafalgar Bay ! Ha, ha, ha ! {they aU laugh) 
During the laughter, reenter If^UKER, very pale and greatly agitated — 
he advances towards Gerald, touches him on the shoulder — (jerald 
tu7-)is towards him — Pennytiiornr appears watching the scene at 
door) 

Fluk. Mr. — Mr. Goodwin 

Gerald. Bad habit that of tapping people on the shonldei, Fluker - 
thought I was arrested. What's the matter ? 



ACT II. 25 

Majob. Ha, ba 1 You arrested witli jour wealth, tLat's a grand 
idea. 

Fluk. Just come aside a moment. Piiew ! {mpes his brow leitfi his' 
handkerchief, much agitated, and goes down idth Gerald) 

Major. Taku care, Goodwin; avoid c.)nsiiltations with our friend 
tliere ; tliere's six-and-eijflitpence in his every syllable. 

Fluk. {to Gerald) My d^ar sir, bear it — bear it 1 lie a man. Life's 
made up of diaHppoiutments — bitter disajipointuients I 

Gerald, {seriously) Well, eir? 

Fluk The hundrt^d thousand pounds 

GsR-VLD. Yes. {tlie Guests uho liaoe risen and come down a little, R., 
begin to listen) 

Fluk. We thouj^lit the evidence of your uncle's death would prove 
indisputable. Tliis mail was to brmu: ample proofs*, so that everything 
mifjht have been concluded ; but ithasu't brought anjthing of the kind 
— on the contrary it's brought 

Gerald. Well ? 

Fluk. Your uncle himself, (pause) 

Gerald. You — you are certain ot ibis? 

Pesny. {at door, L. ) 1 am, lor I've seen him. 

Gerald. You, sir? 

Penny. Yes, 7ne, sir. I was at Mr. Flukei's office on business, when 
Mr. Desboroufjh walked in, all alive, oh ; and a pretty rage he's in 
about people killing him when he only had a jungle fever. He used 
pretty strong language about you, anil said 

Geii.\ld. Enough, sir. (Pennythorne retires np,!^. — Guests croi^)^ 
round him) And so the bubble's burst ! {sits, R. c, mth his head in, 
his hands) 

Fluk. Don't take it to heart, my dear sir — don't tak it to heart. 

Major. Hem 1 Goodwin this is horrible ! {coming dawn) How about 
my uumi'rous advances? 

Fluk. {aside) My numerous advances too. And the bills you've run 
up on tlio strength of tlie money. Oh, this is awful I 

Chark. {coming down, R.) And by gad, sir, I introduced him to my 
tailor. 

Sir R. {doicn, L.) And I thought I was doing Dregs, the wine mer- 
chant, a good turn when I told him not to think of sending in his bill 
to lum — the impostor ! 

Penny. And there's a tidy sum owing to me too, for horses' keep ; 
and my friends, Tippeu and Burns, of Long Acre, tliey'vo been let in 
nicely. Him a ordering a uiad plieeaton, and a brougham, and a 
patent dog cart on a new principle, and then never paying for them. 

Sir R. Tiiat's not at all a new principle, my friend. 

Major. Fluker, you've behaved like a lunatic ! How dare you allow 
your friends to be let in like this ? How dare you, sir ? 

Fluk. Diimme, sir — don't Lully me. We all know why j^cw lent 
him money. 

Majok. Do you daru to insinuate 

Fluk. Dj you dare to ridse your hand threateningly tome, sir? 
{snaps his fingers at tlie JSIajor, then turns from him indignantly, xcith 
his hands under his coat tails) 

Sir R. Come ! come ! come ! This is disgraceful ! 

Fluk. Tlieu how dare he 

M.\jOR What does he mean hy— {retires up, C.) 

Penny. Oh ! it's downright abominable 1 regTar robbery I Swindler I 
impostor ! {crosses. R. C.) 

Pyef. {without) No, no, you musn't. 



2G A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

Alice. (icithotU) Lot me pass, I s ly ! I will see — I will speak to him 
{at the sound of her voice Gerald appears struck irith shame') 

Pemny. Alice liere. Wlial's ihe uicaninijf of this V 
Enter Alice and Joe, door L. 

Joe. Ally! Ally I iny dear. 

Alice. What's this 1 ht- ar ? Tell ine — tell me, some one. {looking 
round) 

Penny. Mr. Goodwin here's no more right to the hundred thousand 
pounds than I have. Ilia uncle's alive, and heie he's been a flinging 
money about as didn't bilong to hini, a getting into debt, and me and 
the rest of tiie creditors won't, get a copper. 

Alice. (L. c.,) Mi-. Goodwin — Gerald, is this true ? 

Gbuald. (ii. c ) Y(=s, every word. 

Alice. And you will Ije disgraced, imprisioned perhaps — Oh ! how 
much does it all conu; t — all that he 1 as to make good ? 

Major, (back, ii.) Three or four thousand pounds, il it's a penny. 

Alice. Uncle Joe, you are well < fi' — and my money comes to more 
than that. Gerald, 1 have enough to clear you. He shall have it 
every shilling! 

Joe. (l.) No, no ! you don't know what you are saying — You don't 
know wnat you are doing 1 {half aside to her) You haven't got the 
money, 

Alice. Yes, my father left it you in trust for me, and he shall 
7iave it. 

Joe. But I tell you it's go — {stops suddenly) 

Gerald, (c, seated)8pnre yourvvords,Sir, Ihavenotyet fallen solow 
as to accept money from the woman I have wronged. 

Alice, (l. c, to Joe) You hear him — he rejects my cflTer; he never 
thought of money when he said lie loved me. Look at him, uncle Joe 
— deserted and despised by the friends who so recently fawned upon, 
and flattered him. There is not one amongst them who would move 
a step to save him from contempt and misery; you stood aloof from 
him wlien he was rich; now tliat he is poor, despised, a ruined man — 
oh, uncle Joe, won't you — icon't you give Jdm your hand now ? (Joe 
gices his hand to Gerald, icho clasps it icith his head bowed — Alice 
with a convulsive sob falls tipon her uncle's breast, l.) 

Guests grouped, Gerald. Joe. Alice. 

R. L. 

END OP TIIE SECOND ACT. 



A C T I I I. 

■ Scene. — Same as Act I. 

!Mrs. Barlow seated at accounts, back at table, r, c. — Joe pacing the 
stage- Jajsje a7id Arabella ^eaferf, r, 

Joe. (l.) Bah ! Parcel of women. Love ! Fiddlesticks! no such thing 
as love alter eighteen — very well for school girls ; sensible women think 
of a home, and a comfortable future. Love in a cottage is pretty enough 
to talk about, but it don't pay. 

Jane. (L.)Oh, you know you don't mean it, Mr. Barlow ! There isn't 
a warmer hearted man in the Boro' than you, I know. Is there, 
Arabella? 

Arab. (R.) That there isn't, Jane dear. 



ACT in. 27 

Joe. Nothing of tlie kind — I'm not good-hearted. If ever I have been 
I'm not ^oiufj to be so any moro. It dou't pay.Jane Plover, it don't pay. 
(during this he is pacing stage) 

Jane. Who was it but you who advised me not to have anything to 
do with young Rawkins, the corucliandler, who kept liis gig, and was 
quite the genileman ? W'lio was it but you who told me lie'd come to 
no good, ami that I'd bettei- marry a yjoor man, if lionest, and industri- 
ous, than all the cornchandlers iu the world ? Yes, and when I said no, 
aai ho married Jenny, didn't the wheel come off the gig only the 
very next, week, and pitcii onhis luad and poor Jenny's a widow.aml me, 
still ia the mnrket ; and you to say j^ou haven't a good heart too. Why 
it's quite rich, Mr. B irlow. 

Mrs. B. [at table at back, n.) That's right ; give it him, girls, he de- 
servos all he gets, evory bit. (a little soured) 

Joe. (stopping) There, there, my own flesh and blood a revolting 
against me. Go on, go on ; I can bear it, ray back's broad enough. 
(paces again) 

Jane. Tueu look at the way you took that young man Goodwin by 
the hand, wlien he hadn't a friend, and him to turn round like au un- 
gr.iteful fell >w and despise 

Joe. (turning sharply) Hold your tongue — hold your tongue, Jane 
Plover — an I don't tallv about things you don't understand. 

Jane. Well, I'm sure, Arabella. 

Ar.\b. I think we're dee tro, Jane dear. 

Mrs. B. Oh, don't be surprised, my dear?:, he's just as rude to me 
He's a changed man is my husband. Don't look lor any civility from 
him. 

Jane, (offended) We don't, mum. 

Mks. B. Look at him, he's as different as possible from what he was 
a year ago — he's always got a scowl on his face and a cross word for 
every on^^. Why, bless my heari ! he don't even comb lis hair as he 
used to. (Joe's hair is stvMby, rougli, and uncomfortable) 

Joe. You leave my hair alone, Mrs. Barlow ; if it is untidy it's my 
own. 

Mrs. B. That's a hint to me, dear, which if I am drove to a front 
it's my misfortune, and not my fault, coming as I do, of a bald family. 

Jane. Of course, and no man would throw it in your face. 

Joe. Ha, ha ! I am not a man, I am a monster. 

Arab. Many a true word spoken in jest, Mr. Barlow. Come, Jane 
dear, let's continue our prommynade. 

Joe. Ha, ha! prommynade ! Gals don't take a walk now — they prom- 
mynade. Ha, ha ! (the Girls go towards door) 

Jane. Good morninc, Mrs. Barlow. 

Ar.\b. Good morning — good morning, Mr. Barlow, and may your 
temper improve. 

Jane. Not likely, I'm sure. 

Arab. Far from it. 

Mrs. B. Good morning, we all have our trials. 

Joe. There — there, continue your prommynard. HaUy vous ong — 
liaUy vous ong. (the Girls go of, Mrs. B. looking at Joe, and JoK look- 
ing at her.) 

Mrs. B. (her arms akimbo) Well, sir? 

Joe. (ditto) Well, mum ? 

Mrs. B. P'raps you'll inform me how long this is to last ? 

Joe. Well I should say about a week, at the end of which time — en- 
ter the brokers, off goes the goods, and down comes the curtain : that s 
the pro-grame . .- —. - 



.38 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

Mrs. B. And then ? 
' Joe. Then there's nothing for us but to walk. 

Mks. B. Walk ! 

Joe. Or, if you prefer it, prommynard. "What's done can't be un- 
done. (Mrs. B. sits and rocks her chair in grief, r) There — there you 
are at it again ; can't you sit still and look ruin in the face like a sensi- 
ble woman. 

Mrs. B. Oh, Joe — Joe! to think it should come to this after all thesa 
years. If you'd only confided in your wife, instead of takii g the ad- 
vice of a parcel of adventurers, this would never have happened. 

Joe. That's right — revile me when all I did, I fancied was for the 
best. Alice don't say a word against me, though she might have me 
up as a robber if she chose. 

Mrs. B. {frightened) Oh, Joe, don't talk like that ! 

Joe. It's true — wasn't the money left to me in trust for her, with the 
under.-tanding it was to be invested in certain securities — and didn't I 
go and put it all into a concern jis was only a swindle after all ? 

Mrs. B. (tcith fervour) With your own, Joe — your own went with it, 
recollect that — you've lost every shilling as well as she. 

Joe. Well, that ain't any consolation ! 

Mrs. B. Oh yes, it is, Joe, oh yes it is. (determinedly) 

Joe. I could have bore this, if it had only been us, but to think mf 
Ally — the best girl that ever breathed should have lost every penny. 

Mrs. B. What do you mean ? She's young and got the world be- 
fore her. If she was willing to give up her money to one who treated 
her like Gerald Goodwin, I hope she don't grudge it to her own uncle, 
who nursed her in his arms when she was an infant and who always 
loved her so, and treated her so well. If her father did leave her some 
money, who helped him to make it but you? Didn't you do all you 
could for him when he hadn't a friend? — besides, she can marrv some- 
body with money, which )'ou can't. 

Joe. (aside) That's very well put. 

Mrs. B. And she's going to, like a sensible girl. 

Joe. (sighs heavily') Ah ! 

Mrs. B. What's that for? I know you're going to begin your old 
complaints against Mr. Pennythorne ! Mr. Pennythorne's behaved 
like a man of honour ! He didn't go tumbling into a sham fortune and 
cry off — no, he's been a friend throughout, and more so than ever of 
late. 

Joe. (aside) Ah, if he knew my awful position ! 

Mrs. B. And though he knew all about Alice's fondness for another, 
he's renewed bis proposals like a gentleman — Alice must marry him 
of course ? 

Joe. Well, he has stuck to his colors, that's certain, and he's always 
eajing he despises money, too, which is lucky ; but still when I think 
of his marrying my Ally 

Mrs. B. Oh ! you must put your feelings in your pocket, Joe. 

Joe. Well, as I've got nothing else to put there, I 'spose I must. 
Now I'll be off and see Ned Lomax — perhaps he can lend me a hand 
till things right tliemselves a bit. Tliere's generally some fragments 
of the worst wreck, and if I could but keep afloat tor a few months 
we might carry on. Five and twenty years ago I lent Ned eighty 
pound — wonder if he remembers it now. He's got a country house, and 
keeps his carriage. 

Mrs. B. Then he don't remember it. 

Joe. Mrs. Barlow, I wouldn't have such an opinion of human na- 
ture as you've got, not to be made the Emperor of Russia — and that's 
Baying a good deal for a tallow chandler, (going to door, c.) 



ACT III. 29 

Mb3. B. Well, good-bye, Joe — wish you luck, old man — hope your 
frieud NedU send you home in his carriage. 

Joe. Oil — oil, you — you Mackyvelli ! Exit, door, c. 

Mrs. B. Mackyvelli, indeed! I wonder who she was, Ned Loinax lend 
any one a shillini?, that's not likely. He was always a hard-hearted 
fellow was Lomax, even when he was a young man, and hearts are like 
Dutch cheeses, the older they grow, the harder they get. However, to 
give the what's his-name his due, I will say Mr. Fluker 

Fluk. {putting Jiis headin door) Might I — a 

Mrs. B. {starting) hxw, Mr. Fluker I what a turn you gave me, sir. 
Talk of the old pentleman, and 

Fluk. {l,., pleasantly) And a lawyer appears. Ha! ha! thank you- 
thank you very much, (comes down, and looks through his glasses very 
mysteriously ) 

Mks. B. (r., aside) I'm not over fond of lawyers. I don't feel quite 
easy. Perhaps he's come on disagreeable business. 

Fluk. Hem] Mrs. Barlow — is a — Mr. Barlow in ? 

Mrs. B. No, he's not. (aside) Don't like this manner. He's trying 
to ogle I do believe. 

Fluk. You'll excuse this visit I'm sure. 

Mrs. B. {in adownrigJit way) Yes ; if it's on business. 

Fl.uk. Very well put. Hem, no ; it isn't exactly on business, (look- 
ing at Iter with his head on one side) 

-iJrs. B. (aside) Wiiat can he mean? I'm all of a tremble. 

Fluk. Mrs. Barlow, you'll pardon my putting ihe question, but are 
you partial to foreigners ? 

Mrs. B. (looking at him) *Ate 'em. 

FiiUK. (smiling) No, no, no. 

Mrs. B. But I do. Mr. Pennythorne's opinions and mine on the sub- 
ject are identifi d. 

Fx,UK. Now, Mrs. Barlow, I've a proposal to make toyoa 

Mrs. B. Go on, sir, but don't forget I'm a married woman. 

Fluic 0!i, you are, you are — very much so. But— a — perhaps I'd 
better call him in. Have I your permission to call him in? 

Mrs. B. Call who in ? 

Fluk. The Count. Count, would yoa step this way. 

Mrs. B. Oh, Joe woulHn't allow this, if he was at home. 
Enter the Count (Major, disguised), 

Fluk. Mrs. Barlow, this is Count Qrawbouski. Hem! Count Graw- 
bouski, Mrs, Barlow, (the Count shrugs his shoulders and botes, Mrs. 
B.uiLow gives a sort of half courtesy, half hob, confused and rather 
irritated) 

Fluk. Look at that noble wreck. (Mrs. Barlow looks a little con' 
temptuously at the Count, who strikes an, attitude, R.) Mrs. Barlow, that 
man is indeed a patriot. 

Mrs. B. I never knew but one patriot, and he took away father's 
boots. But what do you want me to do ? 

Fluk. To come to the point, Mrs. Barlow, you have a two pair back 
— don't deny it, madam, for I see it in your eye. I have a distinct re- 
membrance too of it's being let to Mr. Goodwin. It is not elaborately 
furnished. Count ; but conscious virtue can sleep anywhere. (CoCNT 
shrugs his shoulders, and expressss his acquiescence in pantomime.) 

Mrs B. Bless the man, what's he doing? Can't he speak English? 

Count, (with a shrug) Leetel. 

FuTK. Leetle, Mrs. Barlow, leetle. Understand me, ma'am, that I 
am responsible for the Count's rent. 

Mrs. B. But what makes you bring him here of all places? 

FliUK. I will not deny, ma'am, the Count is at present under a politt 



80 A IIUNDaEO THOUSAND POUNDS. 

cal cloud. He wishes his whereabouts to be a secret. It would be as 
well, perhaps, if you called him— say Browu. 

Mrs. B. What, Count Brown ? 

Fluk. No, no, with the magnanimity of true greatness, the Count 
will uuiiertake to waive his title fur the present. 

Mes. B. (aside) Well, it's wrontj to refuse money., especially at a 
time like the present, (lookivg at CouKT) He don't look ;isif he'd give 
much trouble, and Alice could talk to liim in his native language. 
Well, I shouldn't like to bean outcast in a foreign land myself. He 
shall have the room, {to Flukeu) Well, sir, if the gentleman don't ob- 
j ct to the room being rather small. (Count ahrur/s his shoulders and 
shakes his head) 

Fluk. He is satiated with the gilded salons of the continent, Mrs. 
Barlow, and pines for the solitude and security of the British bedroom. 

Mrs. B. And don't mind the Saw Mills at the back ? (Count repeats 
action) 

Fluk. He prefers Saw Mills at the back. 

Mrs. B. And can put up with the smell of vinegar in the store room, 
just by. (CotTNT ill exaggerated action expresses hisuiter contempt for the 
trifling annoyance) 

Fluk. (proudly) W^hat's the odour of vinegar to a Grawbouski. Eh, 
Count '! (Count snaps his fingers contemptuously) Oh, I think Ave may 
s^^ttle terms at once, ma'am. Would you step this way. (moving, towards 
shop door) 

Mrs. B. (going, tlien stopping abruptly) Wait a minute, my mind 
rai^'gives me about one thing — cookery. Foreigners are bo very 
particular. 

Fluk. Make your mind quite easy, madam! I think, Count, I ex- 
press your culinary sentiments, when I assure Mrs. B. that you are 
content wich the (with shrug and strong French accent) Bif-tek.lachop, 
le sausage, (the Count expresses his satisfaction at each article) Oh yes, 
ma'am — plain roast and boiled. 

Mrs. B. Then we can make tlie gentleman comfortably I've no 
doubt. 

Fluk. Of course : step this way, ma'am ! (going door, c.) Yes, very 
quiet person — y( s, yes. 

Exeunt Mrs. Barlow and Flukkr into sJiop; the Count icatclies 
them off, then takes off green spectacles, cliscovering Blacksiiaw. 

Major. Hang m^ if 1 could liave stood it much longer — I'm not 
used to this masquerading— still I'm in Fluker's liands, and I can't help 
myself — he says I must keep out of the way, and certainly he has 
Bhevvn some ingenuity in his selection of a hi'iing place for the unlucky 
Chairman of the British Australasian Joint Stock Discount and Gen- 
eral Loan Company, who is temporarily *' up a tree." I couldn't help 
the affair going wrong — misfortunes will happen in the best regulated 
companies ! Pleasant to take up a newspaper, and find oneself called a 
defrauder of the widow and the orphan, and ail because the aflfair 
turned out a mull. In the great world of speculation it's all a toss up 
whether you're " a man of great commercial enterprise," or " a monster 
in human form" — I've come into the latter category. Who's this com- 
ing in now? The figure seems familiar. He's chucking a lady 
customer under the chin — the fiirure seems very familiar, (goes up, R.) 

Enter Pennythorne, from shop. 
' Pennt. (talking as he comes in) Sorry he's out, but he won't be long 
I dare eay ! Pleasant si^ries of misfortunes I've had, and no mistake — 
well, it can't go on much longer ; whaton earth's come to the business 
I don't know; and then to put all my ecrgs in one basket — and such a 
basket. It's soma consolation to know I can't be worse off than I am 



ACT III. 31 

though ; and it's another to kaow that old Barlovr thinks I'm well to 
do. The old fox thinks he's hooked a rich husband for his dainty doll 
of a niece. It'll astonish a few of 'em when they find out I haven't a 
shilling. It'll teach her a lesson too ; a stuck-up, satirical madam. I'll 
brinjj her down a peg or two. If it hadn't been for that scoundrel 
Blackshaw, and his precious Discount Australasian thing-a-my-gig, I 
could have carried on. But I'll lay my hand upon him some day, the 
vagabond, {suddenly finds himself beside Blackshaw, who is standing 
perfectly still, Pennythoune gives a roar of alarm, and starts hack) 
Now tiien, what do you mean by startling parties like that ? 

Count, (r., shrugging his shoulders) Pardon. 

Penny, (l.) Oli. you're a foreigner, are you. I'll let him see. I 
haven't stayed at Bolosne for the month together for nothing. Quel 
est votre business? Who etes vous? {Coxsmr shakes his head) 

Penny. What ignorant foUers foreigners are. Don't seem to know 
hid own language. 

Enter Mrs. Barlow, c. door 

Mrs. B. If you'll step this way, sir, I'll shew you the room, {going 
towards R. door) You'll excuse us, Mr. Penny ihorne. (Mrs. Barlow, 
going towards R. door, motums t?ie Count to go first) 

Count, {placing his hand on his heart and bowing) Non, non. Places 
aux datnes. {repeats " Places aux dames," with very English accent) 

Mrs. B. {aside) Well, I don't think much of his language. 

Exit Mrs. Barlow, r. door. 

Count, (turning to Pennythorne and bowing) Au revoir, Monsieur 
Pennisornes. 

Penny, {loftily) Oh, footer twor, footer twor. {Exit Count, r. door 
Pennythorne ioA;e« owf Ata ftooA) A nice mull I've made of my bets 
too ; I'd have laid my life on " Swindler," bar none, but the brute dis- 
appointed the knowing ones, and I stanl to lose a little fortune; at 
least I shan't stand to lose it, for if i can't square old Barlow, I shall 
be oS like a shot. Tliree thousand pounds would set me right, and 
Alice has all tliat. {muses over his book) 

Enter Joe Barlow, c, door. 

Joe. {entering) No ffo, old woman. Ned's abroad. Oh, you're not 
there, {loudly) Well. Pennytliorne I {dapping him 0)itlie back — Pennt- 
TUOKNE starts and hides his book) 

Penny, (r.) Oii, it's you. What a start you gave me. (aside) I'll 
strike whilst the iron's hoc. {turns up, R.) 

Joe. (l.) Pennyihornii's my last chance — he's rich, and might assist 
me. I must get 'em married out of hand, and then, as he's feathered 
his nest well, a thousand or two will be nothing to him. 

Penny, {sitting, r.) I say Barlow, lei's come to the point about 
Alice 

Joe. With all my heart, (aside, taking a chair, R.) What do you 
propose ? 

Penny. Well, for my part, I hate long engagements, 

Joe. So do I — so do I ! 

Penny, (aside) He's in a good humour— it's all right (aloud) Some 
people, now, wou'dwantmarriagj Battlements and lawyer's bills, and 
rubbish ; but between friends 

Joe. O'i, absurd absurd ! (aside) That would expose me at once. 

Penny, (aside) I couldn't settle anything. 

Joe. And after all, what's money? You're well to do, and can keep 
my nieca like a lady ; but still 

Penny. Yes — yes, and with Alice's trifling fortune—— 

Joe. He, hem, ha ! Whoever get's Alice, gets a treasure. 



32 ' A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

Penny, {aside) I knew she hud a tidy lump, but I daren't press him. 
{aloud)For my part I despise money— I'l's Ally 1 want not lier property. 

Joe. {seizing his hand) PennytUoine, my worthy iriend, your senii- 
meuts do you lionor ! 1 don't iouk lor a ricli husband for my niecf — 
give me an indusirious steady man lilie yourself before all your wealthy 
folks. 

Penny, {seizing Mm hy the hand) Joe Barlow, you're a credit to hu- 
man nature ! {aside, turning off, k.) He won't cai e a button when he 
knows everylliintr. {inds hack chair) 

Joe. {turning off, aside) Wlien 1 explain all to him he won't mind it 
a brass farden. Q>uts back chair) 

Enter Alice, door r. 

Joe. Mr. Pennythorne's been speakinfr ajjain about his marriage 
and he's determined not to wait any longer. (ALICE starts sliglitly) 

Penny, {advancing to her) What's the use of jmtting it off, we d(m't 
get any younger, Alice, ^as Pennythorne speaks to her, JoE watches 
Tier, L., anxiously) Come, I haven't behaved badly, many a thin-skinned 
cliap would have had no more to say to a girl, after such conduct as 
yours; but I'm willing to overlook the past, and I ask you to be mine. 
It's your uncle's wish. Ain't it. Barlow ? Why don't you back a party 
up when he's breaking down ? 

Alice, (c.) Is it — is it your wish, un«le Joe? 

Joe. (l., speaking with an effort) Yea, yes. Ally, {aside) I can't look 
her in the face, {aloud) It you marry him, Ally, you'll — you'll be do- 
ing your old uncle a fjreat service, my dear. 

Alice, (r. c, coldly) Then "it shall be as you wish. 

Penny. Hoorah 1 

Alice, {to Pennythorne) D('»not hope that I could ever love you. 

Penny. (R) you'll learn to. People who know me thoroughly posi- 
tively adore me. Uncle-in-law, as is to be, I'll run down to Doctors' 
Commons at once. Strike whilst the iron's hot. {crossing c, almost with 
quiet ferocity to Joe) Don't you let her change her mind. I won't be 
trifled witli. 

Joe. {fiercely turning on Mm) Who'sgoinr to trifle with you? 

Penny. There, there, I didn't mean ir, Ta, la, Alice, love, {kisses 
his hand to her) I shall be back soon, {sings) " Love was once a little 
boy. hei<rho! heigho ! fal de ral la. ' Exit c. door. 

Joe. {in a fidgetty way) Ally ; you were always a good and noble 
girl. I've loved you like my own child, and if }ou really shrink from 
marrying him, I'll bravo want — disgrace — anything rather 

Alice. Listen to me, uncle Joe, now that we are alone; in your 
liearts of hearts, do you wish for this marriaoe ? 

JoE. Don't ask me in that way, Aliy — 1 — I don't want you to marry 
Pennythorne — but — nothing else can save me from ruin. 

Alice. And you had so many friends. 

Joe. The only friend we have in the world is you. Ally. 

Alice, It must be so then. I will try my best to do my auty by 
him, but you will be near me, dear uncle Joe. {takes his hand) to com- 
fort me upon my cheerless path. I shall sei? you often, and hear your 
kind and encouracring voice. You Avon't leave me, uncle Joe — you 
wont leave me. {clasps her arms around him) 

Joe. Don't lake it to heart so, my child. I'm sure you'll be happy. 
■ - Enter Gerald, at door, L. — he is very quietly dressed. 

Joe. (u c, who has been caressing Alice, and stroking her hair) 
Gracious! Mr. Goodwin! {KiACiS. sh.udders) 

Gerald, (k ) I beg your pardon. I fear I have called at an inoppor- 
tona moment. 



, ACT III. 33 

Joe. (li.) No, na {releases Alice and shakes 7ier Jiand, aside as if 
to reassurehcr) 

Gekald. But i beard that I should find you in, from Mr. Penny- 
tV.onie. whom I met as 1 was coming liere. {looks at Alice, who shuns 
hii gaze, drooping her head) 

Job. You've fouud your way here at last tlien. 

Gerald. I lear I am an unwelcome visitor even now ; but I will 
only inflict my preseacj upon you for a very short time. I am about ii> 
gj abroad. (Alice, u., gives a sligM start) Ibr some years. I could 
not leave Ea^iau I without one word — {with emotion) one word of 'fare- 
well. Alice. To that farewell, I may now add a deep and fervent wish 
for your happiness in your {slight pause) married life. I can scarcely 
till ik this mitc'i is one of your owu cuoico, still that choice I had no 
rior it to question, 

J >B. Gerald Goodwin, I'll be plain with yon. My niece loved you 
deeply — truly. You said you loved her — you know how you behaved ? 
TuBu wlien, with the forgiving heart of a loving woman, she oflFered 
all her little fortune to retrieve your honor, you kept away from Ler — 
fora; )t her. 

Alice. (foucMng his arm, aside) Uncle Joe ! 

Gerald. I never knew sho had a farthin.>:' till that moment. Was 
it for lUJ when 1 was once more a begirar to come and seek her ? No 1 
Could I, after the way in which I had treated her, come and pray to be 
forgiven? What would you have said then? But enough of ' this — 
Alica, farewell ! 

Alice, {to Joe, aside) He never knew till then that I had money, 
uicie Joe. He does not know now that we are poor. 

Joe. {aside) Well, well, it's best as it is — its best as it is. 

Eitir 'iJlyii. B.iRLOW, hurriedly, from "R., in a great state of agitation. 

Mr3. B. Joe, Joe — oh, Joe I {sits on sofa, up R., and appears faint). 

Joe. Hero, fetch your aunt a glass of water. Ally. What is it, my 
dear ? 

Mrs. B. No, never mind. Oh, Joe, the disgrace ! the disgrace 1 {buriea 
her he:ii in her hands) 

Joe What disgrace ? Speak out ? 

Mrs. B. It's an execution, Joe — the bailiffs. Oh, to think that I 
siio'.tl I live to see this day 1 

Joe. (r., overcome, aside) It's come ! It's come ! {patting her on the 
ba'^'c) Nivjr mind ; clie-r uo. old woman — it'll all come right. 

M.xi. B. (r. c, clasping his hand) Oh, Joe, you never told me it was 
as b 1 1 as this. 

GsR.ALD. (l.) Mrs. Barlow I Alice ! what does all this mean? 

Joe. (b.) It means that I have baen a scoundrel. 

AtilCB. (ti. c.) It m3ans that uncle Joj has been unfortunate— very 
aaf)rcunate — iitt we are — beggars^ 

Gbr.vld. Why I have always understood^ 

ALIC3. (L. C.) I know ! I know ! — you were mistaken. My money 
has been lost, and unde Joe's as well. 

Joe Evjry penny, Gerald Goodwin, every penny ; and the baili3s a 
sittin' like a inkybus in tlie shop. 

GSRV'.D I'm in a mazel O'l, this must not be— shall not be I Un- 
cle Ddsb.jrough, though a strange and headstrong man, lias a god 
heart, ani he'shall know of this at once. He heard of your noble con- 
duct, Alice, and he will never suffer this, {crossing, B. C.) Bear up, my 
kind oil friend ! Alice, cheer them both ; and, take my word for it, thia 



84 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

tnisfortune sliall be averted, (excitedly) Alice 1 Alice I iVe got a 
thousand things to say, but I caa'D say iliera now — wait just a little; 
I'll soon be back. Here, get out of the way ! {pushing aside Gibbons, 
%oho Ims entered, L.) 

GiBBOiNS. We're in no particular hurry, Mr. Barlow, and we'll wait 
in the shop till you're more composed, (aside to Alice, who has followed 
Gerald to door) Tell him to bear up, miss ; bless your innocent 'art, 
it's nothing' when you're used to it. (Exit c. 

Alice. Don't be cast down, uncle Joe ; something assures me that 
Gerald can assist you through it. You saw how pained and surprised 
he was at the sudden discovery of your misfortune. 

Joe. Ah, there was a reassuring tone about his manner. Ally, and 
he may be able to do something. His voice sounded cheery, old girl, 
and it's a pleasant er voice than — -' 

Penny, (heard in shop) All in, eh I that's all right. 
Joe. a pleasanter voice than Pennythorne's. 
Enter Pennythorne — Alice's hack is towards him — Mrs. Barlow's 
head is in, her hands, and Joe is sitting looking at the ground. 
Penny, (l., singing) " Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life as 
love's young dream." I flew away in such a precious hurry on the 
wings of love, Alice, that I forgot Doctor's Commons would be shut 
afore, I could get there ; when I found how late it was, I turned back 
to come and spend a pleasant evening, (sings) " For there's nothing 
half so sweet in life as love's young dre" — well, you're a lively family 
group, you are. (pause) Blest if you ain't like the Chamber of Horrors 
at Madame two-swords. Now then, you rollicking old ile and colour- 
man, what's the matter? 

Alice, (c, comes to him) Mr. Pennythorne, since you left us just 
now, we have suffered a great blow. 

Penny. Who's been hittin' any of you? Only tell me — don't mind 
confiding in me, I'll stick by you. 

Joe. (in chair, R., aside to Mrs. Barlow) Pennythorne says he'll 
stick by us. He don't care lor money. He's a good fellow alter all's 
said and done. 

Mrs. B. (inarm chair) I always said he was, but you never be- 
lieved me. 

Penny. I hate your unsympathetic humbugs. Give me the heart 
that can feel for another, (aside) Some near relation popped off, I 
suppose. 

Alice, (l. c.) You see uncle Joe meant all for the best ; but he has 
been unlortunate, very unfortunate. 

Penny, (aside) Unfortunate with his money I — these things will 
happen. 

Alice. He meant well, but we are all liable to mistakes, and poor 
uncle Joe made a great and fatal one, when he speculated beyond his 
means. 

Penny, (countenance changing) Speculated beyond his — go on, go 
on. 

Alice. You are his friend — his old and valued friend — you will not 
add to his present anguish by one unkind word — you will stand by 
him now that he is well nigh broken-hearted — now that he is ruined. 
You have always said yoa did not care for money. You have been 
prudent and lucky, and you can assist poor uncle Joe in his present 
trouble, (with downcast looks) I have often spoken to you harshly, 
rudely, and I a-k your forgiveness — If — if — you care for me as you 
have always said — you will — (looks at him) stretch forth a generous 



ACT ILL 



35 



hand and help [pie expression of Penntthorne's face stops Tier — 

she pauses.) 

Penny, (after a slight pause, in a quiet voice') Is this real or sham : 
It's no get up to try me, is it, V 

Alice. It is too real. We have lost every shilling, irretrievably, 
and are little better than bejfpars. 

Penny, (still in a constrained quiet tone) And i/our money ? 

Joe. (at back) Gone, Penuythorne, pone — every farthincf 1 

Penny, {mth his hands in his pockets, and in a loud voice) Well, 
you're a nice lot I This is pr> tty disgraceful abominable conduct, 
1 his is. You'd have tricked me beautiful, I don't -wonder at your M-ant 
inir to hurry on the match ; no, nor you either, ■with your palavering 
8pi^eches, now it's no longer any good playing the high and mighty. 
(Alice is du7nbfoundered, and unable to speak^ 

Mrs. B. Joe, I must speak. 

Joe. Be quiet, {to Pek^jythgrne) Why you always declared you de- 
spised money. 

Penny. And you been in business for forty year.'' and fool enough 
to believe me! I can't find words to express my contempt for you. 

Mrs. B. Joe, I icill si)eak. 

Joe. Be quiet, you silly v/oman, you. 

Penny. You're a parcel of swindlers altogether, pretending to hava 
money when you haven't a shilling. Tell you what it is, Mr. Barlow, 
you're an impostor, that's what yow are. (approaches^ almost imnacingly 
to Joe) 

Alice, (interposing and turning upon Pennythorne) Leave the 
lionse sir! (pointiny to door) 

Penny. Eli I 

Alice. Leave the house, I say and never dare to set your foot in it 
again ; yonder lies your road ; take it, ere I summons those who will 
thrust ycu like a car into the street. Go! 

Penny, (abashed ajid slinking towards door) I'm — I'm going, (aside) 
What a fury ! (to Alice ichoJiac retired tip) Good bye, you — you h.v2en:i 
— you — A nice time I should have had with you, too. (finds himself 
close to Gibbons icho has entered c. door) 

GiBB. I beg your pardon. Is your name Pennythorne, Livery Stable- 
keeper, and setterer ? 

Penny. Course it is. 

GiBB. Sorry for it, but I must arrest you at the suit of Slangem 
& Co. 

Penny. What? 

JoK. (crossi7ig,Ji. c.) Arrest him! There's some mistake. He's a 
Weajl^liy man. 

diBB. Well, his creditors will be only too lia])py to 'car it. He's up 
to his eyes in debt with all his tradesmen, his paper's everywhere, he 
got a bill of sale on his furniture, and won't he find a precious long 
list of detainers, after he's been an hour in Curcitor-street, that's all. 
Wealthy, why he's only been staving off people by telling 'em ho w;>.s 
going to marry an heiress. 

Alice, (l.) Can it be possible. 

Joe. (r. c. jumping) Why, you rascally swindler, what do you 
mean ? Pretending to liavo money w .ea you haveu't a shilling. I tell 
you what it is, Mr Pennythorne, you're an impostor, thut's wiiat you 

Mrs. B. (a.., quietly) Pennythorne, I always thought you were a 
scoundrel. 

Joe. "(r. c.) Ho, ha ! ho! That's good, (to PennythorHE) Ha, ha! 
I don't wonder at your wanting to hurry on the match. Ha, ha I 
■we're well rid of eac'.i other, my worthy fi'icad. (crossec, K.) 



36 A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 

Pennt. (c, back) That's rigbt, trample on me. Kick a fallen tower 
Telien he's down. Lead me to your Sponging Establishment, Officer of 
the Sheriff, where you charge eighteen pence for a sheet of note paper 
and half-a-crown a day for the pen and ink. But you won't get much 
out of me. I don't want to play the swell at a guinea a minute, and 
saall go to prison, I shall feel at home there, bo 

Farewell, Barlow, till we meet. 
Within the walls of Whitecross Street. 

Exit Pennythorne and Gibbons. 
Job. There's a mean-spirited 'ound, a letting himself down to talk 
poetry. 
Alice. Never mini him, uncle Joe, he isn't worth your anger. 

Enter Pyefinch, hurriedly and out of breath, door l. 
Pyef. {down, L.) Here, I say 1 Where's — w here's Mr. Goodwin? 
Alice. Has anything happened ? 

Pyep. Anything? Ha, ha ! its according to what you call anything. 
I sliould think so. But where is he ? 

Alice. He left here some little time back, prom ieing to return shortly 
Pyef. I heard lie was here, and master's sent me post haste after 
him. 

Enter Count, door L. — he pauccc abruptly on seeing Pyefinch. 

Count, {ande) Why, that's Goodwin's man — I've tumbled into pleas- 
ant quarteis hci.e. It's like everything that Fluker does, he always 
makes a botch of it. 

Joe. I thought his uncle never wanted to see him again. 

Pyef. So everybody imagined. But blood is stronger than water.and 
Mr. Desborough's a good sort notwithstanding his odd temper. Look at 
his taking me when his nepliew bust up, and iDaking me his own man. 
Lucky thing, too, after I'd lost all my savings in that atrocious Black- 
shaw's twenty per cent, paying swindle. You see Mrs. Desborough the 
young wife as master married in India 

Alice. Yes. 

Pyef. Well it was an ill-assorted match from the first, and Mrs. 
Desborough, not to put too fine a point upon it, has 

Joe. Well. 

Pyep. (l.) He-loped. Well, you see, master is sixty-sis ir so, and his 
wife not more than twenty-four. Take twenty -four from sixty-sis and 
what remains ? 

Count, (aside) Mrs. Desl orough doesen't, evidently. 

Pyef. (turning to him) 1 beg your pardon, what did you remark ? 
wasn't aware that strangers was present, (speaks aside to Joe) 

Alice, down r. a little) If they should be reconciled once more, and 

Gorald not go abroad but stay at home, and but no, that can never, 

never be now. 

Re-enter Gerald, c. 

Pyef. Here he is. 

<Jerald (l. c.) I haven't been to Ilprley Street Out I have seen the 
agent who is directed to pay my passage money at d allowance; and for 
the present that may suffice until we can arrange matter j. 

Pyef. B('g pardon, sir. Letter, sir — your uncle, {gives him letter) 
Most important. Hem ! most important. 

Gerald. My uncle ? He is not — not 

Pyep. Oh dear no, sir, more alive than ever, especially to the fact of 
having a nephew. Exit L- door 



tiCS in. 37 

GEEAliD. (li.) What can tins mean ? I feel a strange foreboding of 
more ill fortune, I cannot read it. 
Alice. I'll read it f )r you, then. 

Gerald. Do, Alice, (aside) What further blow can fate have now in 
Btoro for me? 

Alice, (reads) " My dear nephew Gerald, — My short delusive dream 
of happiness is over, and I awake to the bitter and sorrowful reality. 
1 am alone now— alone with none to turn to but you, my poor wronged 
boy. I spurned you — you my dead sister's only child ; and in my 
shame and grief I prny you, I implore you, to return to me. I mny 
yet in some measure ntone for the past ; to do so will be the sole aim 
and object of my remaining years. I can write no more than this ; fur- 
give and cojne to me." Oh, you will go to him, Gerald — you will com- 
fort him in his bitter shame and sorrow — do not hesitate. You will 
overlook his past neglect — you do not know wliat influences may have 
been at work. You will forget and forgive, Gerald, and go to him at 
once — at once. 

Gerald. Yes. (taking her Tiand) I will on one condition— it is that 
you go with me, Alice. 

Alice, (c.) Gerald. 

Gerald, (l.) It would be mere pretence were I to fain blindness to 
the tenour of that letter ; fortune once more smiles upon me, but it will 
be valueless indeed unless shared by you. I have suffered long and bit- 
terly for my wicked folly of a year ago, you urge me to return good for 
evil ; set me the example, Alice, and ouce more say that you wiil be 
my wife. 

Alice, (looking timidly round) Oh, dear,before everybody too. 

Joe. (r. c. turning to Mrs. Barlow) there I what do you say to 
that, old lady? if tliat isn't your notion of nobility of soul, I should 
like to know your idea of what is ? 

Mrs. B. Bless his heart ; I akcays loved him from the first. 

Joe. He — hem ! Ally. (Alice goes to Joe) Now, Ally my dear, don't 
beat about the bash — out with it. 

Alice. Gerald 1 {giving him her hand) 

Gerald. My own love! (embraces he?') 

Joe. (embracing Mrs. Barlow) My blessed old Susan ! 

(Count com.es down L. o/ Gerald) 

Count, (aside) It's an ill wind that blows nobody good, and nothing 
venture nothing win. (taps Gerald on the shoulder — Gerald turns. 
Count takes his arm and leads him a step or two r., and whispers in hia 
ear) I'm Blackshaw — hush ! I came here to hide from my credi. 
tors, but I've tumbled into a hornet's nest. Don't believe all you hear 
against me. It was all Charker's doing, and I haven't had a shilling 
of the money — the scoundrel threw me over with the rest. I lent you 
a trifle once — you've got your passage money and some of your allow- 
ance in your pocket. You're on your legs again — I'm in Queer-street. 
L«nd me the money and I'll go to Australia instead of you. Your 
honeymoon will be none the less happy from the knowledge that you've 
done a kin ily turn to a poor devil down on his luck. 

Gerald, (r.) You're right, Blackshaw. May you live to retrieve 
the errors of the past. 

Major. You shall not regret this generous act, Goodwin. 

Gerald. You shall pay me back — when 

Major. Yes 

Gerald. When you've earned it. 

Major, Never earned anything in my life. Never had time, (goes 
«p,L.) 

Enter Fluker, door, c. 



38 



A HUNDRED THOUSAND POUNDS. 



Fluk. (l. c.) Charker's captured 1 Captured sir, at Dover, just on 
tLe very point of starling for the Continent, " One foot on land, and 
onp on shore," as the poet says. 

JOK (R c.) That feller a Count ? Why I thought he was the man 

in posses.ion.^^ a woman was at the bottom of it all. It certainly is 
very remarkable that you should be here. 

pfuK'^Wen, hi was always at Mr. D sborough's-never away from 
the house— fishinjr after the hundred thousand pounds, you Know ; but 
your uncle never Tiked him-no, he never took your uncle- never ; but 
he— a— yes— he— a— took your aunt. 

fSfSnl^rff^'i Dover. The creditors will pt most of t^.ir 
money%nd L^s had the honesty to absolve Blackshaw-Blackshaw 
lip dpflares is as innocent as a lamb. . „ ™, «. -n • 

CovT (throicing off his v:ig d-c, dancing) Doesbe? Then oifvd lam- 
ous disguise! "My foofsupon my nativejheath-my name's McGregor! 

Joe Look here, who is he ; first he's a bailiff then he's a count, then 
he's McGrecrnry. I calls him a regular Hovid s Metamorforus. 

Mk^B (R.) Joe-Joe. we've been forgetting all about our trouble. 

Joe Eh ' Ah, bless me. so we have. 

Gekald. (l. c.) So you shall. We'll have no talk of trouble now- 
B. haoDV future lies betore us all. . , , ,, j ' i 

S (1- c.) You'll never be happy with a hundred thousand pouncsl 

iScE R C) Your uncle shall keep his w. alth ; Gerald, we shall bq 
hapiy ?f we are not too rich. We have seen what money does, so le 
US be contented with a little-well have no grand home ; you wouldn t 
Wish vour wffe to feel strange and out of place-nor shall we desire to 
dazzle* old friends with new display. 

(to Audience) Old friends are truest, such as those we see. 
Who joy with us at our prosperity ; 
Whose kindly cheer to us more welcome sounds. 
Than even, oh, Ten hundred thousand pounds 1 



OUBTAm. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



014 458 580 fi 



